“I received your letter and came with haste.”

Wakiza’s concerned and frightened eyes glanced from the dark confines of his home to his old friend. “Dhanvatori, I am glad you came.” He looked to the left at the traveling companion.

“This is Gideon.” Dhanvatori stepped aside to allow Wakiza to see the stout man behind him. “I brought him to help.”

Gideon’s lips pressed into a smile, barely visible behind his thick red mustache.

“Gideon’s an expert on certain … paranormal elements.”

Wakiza swallowed. “My apologies, please come in.”

As they entered, the wooden floorboards creaked under their weight, and Wakiza slammed the door behind them. He hesitated for a spell, then locked the deadbolt with a loud clang.

Dhanvatori wasted no time. “Where is the child?”

Wakiza led them down a narrow hall. The glow of the fireplace flickered against the dark walls, casting restless shadows. The girl lay motionless, her small frame barely lifting the blankets when she breathed. “Here she is,” Wakiza’s voice cracked. His shoulders slumped as he buried his face in his hands.

Dhanvatori exhaled sharply. “I wish you had called me first,” Dhanvatori muttered, reaching for the crucifix nailed above the child’s head. He yanked it free. “Instead of that exorcist.”

The crucifix fell into the flames. Wakiza watched flabbergasted as sharp cracks split the air. A hiss like water spilling onto hot coals struck his ears as the wood curled and blackened unnaturally fast.

 “Where is your wife?” Dhanvatori’s sharp question jolted Wakiza from his thoughts.  

“Away.” Wakiza rasped, wiping at his face to clear his tears. “She’ll return in a fortnight.”

“Then we have little time.” He motioned to Gideon with a nod.

Gideon, looked like a brute with his thick red hair, but his voice was unexpectedly gentle. “We’ll need more blankets for the journey.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“From what I read in your letter; the child’s soul is in grave danger.” Dhanvatori’s voice shook as he moved pass Wakiza into the hallway. He returned with blankets. “The exorcist was wrong.”

Wakiza’s heart began racing. The chill in the air raced up his back. He felt helpless watching the men wrap his daughter in thick blankets.

Dhanvatori continued. “She’s not possessed. She’s hosting something ancient-something that cannot be forced out.”

Wakiza’s breath hitched. “A powerful demon?”

“A gabamnoteh.”

The word seemed to darken the room.

Gideon pealed back her eyelid and moved closer, looking deeply into an eye. “I see the shadow forming already.”

“Shadow?” Wakiza’s voice fluttered.

Dhanvatori covered her head with quick, but careful hands. “The priest’s ritual didn’t expel a demon,” Dhanvatori’s eyes met Wakiza’s gaze. “It exorcised her soul.”

Wakiza stiffened. His lips parted, but no sound came.

Gideon adjusted his hold and lifted the girl. “If we delay, we may lose her forever.”

Wakiza stood frozen. Then, finally gave a stiff nod. Without another word, they carried the child from the room.

They walked the hallway, the sounds of their heavy feet the only noise. Wakiza stopped at the exit, cold wind seeped through the door cracks. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Dhanvatori’s eyes softened.

He was a good friend when they were young. He left the church for “spiritual enlightenment,” Wakiza reminded himself. That’s what ended their friendship. The church excommunicated him, and he went to consort with demons. Every part of Wakiza rejected what was happening. Yet, he opened the door, watching as Gideon carried his daughter into the cold.  

The horses trotted, and the carriage bounced over the uneven ground. Wakiza clutched his daughter tightly, his eyes locked on the man across from him—his onetime friend.

Dhanvatori didn’t have that same inquisitive glare Wakiza remembered. Instead, he looked assured, as if all the questions he’d ever wanted to ask had already been answered.

Wakiza tightened his grip on his daughter. “Where are you taking us?”

Dhanvatori didn’t hesitate. “To a pub. Half a day’s ride from here. Inside, there’s a chair.”

Gideon glanced back, giving a curt nod.

Dhanvatori met Wakiza’s eyes. “They call it the Devil’s Armchair.”

Wakiza’s pulse quickened. “Are you insane?” His arms tightened around his daughter. “Turn us around, I’ll have no part of this.”

Dhanvatori grabbed his shoulder, his voice urgent. “Listen to me. You already tried the priest. You had her exorcised. And yet, here we are. We’re running out of time.”

Wakiza lowered his gaze. Desperation gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Dhanvatori let go, exhaling. “The name doesn’t matter. What matters is what it can do. It connects to a world parallel to ours. In that world, there’s another chair.” After a moment's hesitation, he delicately ran his fingers through the child's raven hair. “If we place her body in the first chair, and her soul in the second… the link between them can be restored.”

Wakiza’s mind swirled. He had always believed the soul was infused into the body at conception—immortal, unbreakable. But… what did happen to an exorcised soul?

A dull ache pressed against his forehead. He rubbed it with his thumb and sighed. “Tell me what you know. No riddles.”

“Of course,” Dhanvatori tightened the wool blanket around him. “Your letter says she reads minds.”

Wakiza hesitated before nodding. He thought it was an elaborate prank at first, but when his daughter began repeating thoughts he knew had never been spoken aloud, he’d been terrified. His wife insisted it was demonic.  

“When was the last time she fell ill?”

“Never,” Wakiza said. “Her mother takes good care of her.”

Dhanvatori nodded, his smirk reflected a doubt in the mother’s caretaking skills that insulted Wakiza.

“She does!” he reaffirmed sharply.

Gideon let out a low grunt, turning slightly. The sunlight slashed across half his face. “Does she ever sing? A tune you don’t recognize?”

Wakiza’s stomach clenched. “She used to… when she was small. What does that have to do with—”

Dhanvatori’s grin widened. “She wasn’t possessed, Wakiza. She had a gabamnoteh.”

The word meant nothing to Wakiza. He frowned.

“A fragment of an ancient soul,” Dhanvatori explained. “Think of it like a—a cyst. A parasite that clings to a host.” He hesitated. “And once attached… You can’t exorcise them.”

Wakiza’s breath hitched. “Are you saying my daughter’s soul is diseased?”

Gideon chimed again. “He’s saying something is attached to it.” The carriage jolted as the wheels hit a deep rut. They bounced. Wakiza shifted his grip and looked at his daughter. She remained motionless, her face blank.

Shifting to find comfortable sitting, Dhanvatori continued. “Depending on the type of ritual, an angel named Ia’elet or its assisting djinni, Hafta’el will bind the wicked spirit and cast it in the Pit of Sorrows.”

Wakiza felt himself melting in his seat. Was his daughter in some pit of sorrows?

“The gabamnoteh changed her soul’s vibration,” Dhanvatori continued. “It made her more like the djinn.”

Wakiza’s headache worsened. “You’re saying the angel mistook my daughter for something evil?”

Dhanvatori shrugged. “It is possible.” His attempt at a reassuring smile fell flat. “But there’s hope. We can get her back.”

Wakiza’s stomach clenched. A roaring filled his ears. His grip tightened around his daughter until her limp body felt impossibly fragile in his arms. His daughter. A mistake? A casual misjudgment of the divine? His faith had no answer for this.

“Stop the carriage.” His voice came out hoarse.

Dhanvatori turned sharply, startled. “What?”

“Stop the damn carriage.” The air in the cabin felt too thin. “This is madness.”

“Wakiza,” Dhanvatori shook his arm. “Pull yourself together. It’s just a chair. We’re only sitting her in a chair, and she will be well.”

Gideon grunted again. He glanced back, only to peer into Wakiza’s concerned eyes. “Provided Kabeir is successful.”

Wakiza did not like the sound of that. He turned to Dhanvatori for an explanation.

“Kabeir is a spirit.” Dhanvatori paused, then swallowed and took a deep breath. His eyes hinted at something, like a secret. Wakiza felt there was something unspoken between the two men.

“What?” he pressed to know the secret. “We’ve come too far to go back. Tell me.” His voice grew bolder. “Tell me everything.”

“Once there were twin spirits, Idoth and Kabeir,” Gideon had to yell back to them over the noise from the carriage wheels tumbling over the gravel path. “They took part in a ritual that separated into these gabamnoteh - severed pieces that would die unless they latched on to someone’s soul.” He looked back to catch Wakiza’s glare. “Idoth was clairvoyant.”

Wakiza shook his head and rocked his daughter. “That’s impossible. We christened her when she was still an infant.”

Gideon’s voice was louder, deeper, and Wakiza didn’t know if the massive man had lost patience with him. “Everything in your letter-everything you’ve told us-points to the same truth.” He gestured toward the girl in Wakiza’s arms. “A piece of Idoth is inside your daughter.”

Wakiza rocked his daughter.

“When I looked in her eyes, I saw the shadow.” Gideon continued. “It’s the shadow of an eternal bondage-an existence chained to a pit’s wall, guarded by marid djinn, tortured by shadow demons. It is Hell without fire. It is the Hell before the fire.”

Dhanvatori interjected, “Don’t worry, my friend. Kabeir will find her. We only need to sit her in the chair.”