Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Ramona’s first thought was: I’m going to die in an oversized T-shirt that says Witch Happens.
Her second thought was: That voice is really attractive, which is inappropriate given the circumstances.
Her third thought was: Run, idiot.
She scrambled backward, her back hitting the bed frame hard enough to bruise. The grimoire fell from her lap with a thud that sounded too loud in the sudden silence.
“Stay there.” Ramona’s voice came out steadier than she expected or felt. “Don’t move.”
The figure in the darkness tilted its head. The movement was slow, deliberate. Predatory.
“Or what?”
Two words. Just two words, but they made Ramona’s bones vibrate like a tuning fork. Her heart kicked against her ribs.
“Or…” Ramona looked around. The candles were out.
All of them. The salt circle was intact, the white line still perfect on her floor.
That should hold. Basic magical theory, the first thing they taught at Thornwood.
Even if she’d never actually successfully completed a summoning before.
Even if she was drunk and this was clearly going sideways.
“The salt will hold you,” Ramona said. “You can’t cross it. ”
There was a pause. The silence stretched. Then a sound that might have been a laugh. Low and dark.
“Is that right?”
The figure took a step forward.
Ramona’s stomach dropped. The woman — and she could see now that it was definitely a woman, or something shaped like one — walked right through the salt circle.
Just stepped over it. Like it was a line drawn in chalk.
“Shit.” Ramona lunged for the nearest thing that could possibly be used as a weapon. Her hand closed around one of Felix’s pillar candles, as though Autumnal Harvest could save her now.
She held it up. Not quite brandishing. Just… holding it. Like that would help.
The woman paused. Looked at the candle. Then at Ramona.
“Are you threatening me with a candle, Mortal?”
“It’s solid wax,” Ramona said. Her voice had taken on a panicked edge. “And I’m not scared to use it.”
“Noted.”
The woman’s eyes — and Ramona could see them now, dark and unsettlingly steady in the dim light — tracked the candle with something that might have been amusement. The streetlight from the window caught her face properly for the first time.
The woman had dark hair that fell just past her ears in waves, slightly mussed like she’d been running her hands through it.
Or like she’d just been yanked through a dimensional portal mid-conversation.
And she was wearing a suit — black, well-tailored, expensive, though slightly singed at the cuffs.
It probably cost more than Ramona’s car.
The white shirt underneath was open at the collar, showing the hollow of her throat and the gleam of silver chains layered at her neck.
Rings glinted on her fingers. A metal watch caught the light at her wrist.
“Who are you?” Ramona asked. “What are you?”
“You summoned me.” The woman’s voice was flat. Bored, almost. “You tell me.”
“I was trying to summon success. Fortune. A better job.” Ramona gestured vaguely with the candle. “Not whatever this is.”
The woman crossed her arms. The movement made her jacket pull tight across her shoulders. “Whatever this is?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
They stared at each other. Ramona was acutely aware that she was wearing an old T-shirt and no pants, holding an autumnal candle, while a strange woman in an expensive suit stood in her bedroom.
This was worse than the incident. Worse than everything.
“Let’s start over.” Ramona lowered the candle slightly. Her arm was getting tired. It really was quite heavy. “Who are you?”
The woman sighed. It was the kind of sigh that suggested she’d had a very long day and this was just making it longer.
“My name is Azareth,” she said. Each syllable was crisp, precise.
“Duchess of the Third Circle. Keeper of the Endless Ledger. Vice President of Temptation and Minor Inconveniences, Hell’s Southeastern Division.
” She paused, running a hand through her already-disheveled hair in a gesture that looked habitual.
Frustrated. “And you just dragged me out of a performance review.”
Ramona blinked. “Hell has a Southeastern Division?”
“We reorganized in the nineties. Corporate structure.” Azareth looked around the room, taking in the duct-taped bed frame, the pile of laundry, the water-stain duck on the ceiling.
“Mandatory sensitivity training. Quarterly reports. Team-building exercises.” Another sigh.
“This is what I was summoned for? This?”
Ramona scoffed in offense.
“Your bed is held together with tape.” Azareth pointed a dark-tipped nail toward the furniture item in question.
“It’s vintage.”
“It’s a fire hazard.”
“You’re one to talk. You’re literally from Hell.” Ramona was unsure exactly why she needed to defend her bed from judgment, but it felt necessary in the moment.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Hell has better infrastructure.” Azareth’s gaze dropped. “And you’re not wearing pants.”
Ramona’s face went hot. She grabbed a throw blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her waist. “Listen, Azareth—”
“You’re not pronouncing that correctly.”
“I don’t care.” Ramona stood up, blanket-dignity and all. “You need to leave. Now. Back to Hell, back to wherever you came from.”
Azareth stared at her. “That’s not how this works.”
“I summoned you. I can unsummon you.”
“Can you?” Azareth’s eyebrow raised. “Because from where I’m standing, you have no idea what you’re doing.”
Ramona opened her mouth. Closed it. Damn, this demon was quite rude and quite observant. “I know plenty about magic.”
“You’re threatening me with a candle.”
“It’s a very heavy candle.”
“And you’re drunk.”
“That’s none of your business.” Ramona set the candle down on her nightstand.
This was pointless. “Look. I don’t know what spell I screwed up, but you can’t stay here.
If the Thornwood Coven finds out I summoned a demon—” She stopped.
Took a breath. “I got expelled once already. They’d love an excuse to finish the job.
Strip my magic. Report me to the Council. ”
“Sounds dramatic.”
“I’m being practical.” Ramona’s voice came out flat. “So you need to leave. Please.”
Azareth didn’t move. “I can’t.”
The words landed wrong. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“You bound me here.” Azareth’s voice was patient now. Too patient. “The spell you cast created a tether. I’m bound to you until the spell’s conditions are met.”
Ramona’s head was pounding. “A tether?”
“Yes, in a way. A magical bond.” Azareth paused, squinting at something past Ramona’s shoulder. “Is that the grimoire you used?”
Ramona glanced back at where the book had fallen. “Maybe. What conditions have to be met?”
Azareth crossed the room — Ramona didn’t bother brandishing the candle this time — and picked up the grimoire. She flipped through the pages, her expression growing darker with each turn.
“This is a real shitty grimoire,” Azareth said flatly.
Ramona had the strange urge to defensively cradle the grimoire in her arms. Instead, she set her jaw and clenched her hands.
“Most of these spells are written by amateurs.” Azareth held up a page.
“You really didn’t notice how bad these spells are?
This protection ward is missing at least three key ingredients.
This love spell would give someone hives.
And this—” She turned to page forty-seven.
“This summoning spell is supposed to call a minor spirit of fortune. Instead, it called me.”
“Why?”
“Someone altered it.” Azareth examined the page more closely. “See these symbols? In the margin?” She tilted the book toward Ramona. Strange markings caught the candlelight, drawn in different ink. “Someone added an amplification charm. Which means instead of a fortune spirit, you got me.”
“A demon.” Ramona gulped down her mortification for a moment. Wasn’t this precisely what she’d spent her career decoding? And then she’d gone completely smooth-brained about the mechanics the moment she had a glass of wine?
“A very busy demon who is now bound to a drunk disaster witch and is going to have to file so much paperwork.” Azareth pulled a small leather-bound book from her jacket pocket. She flipped through pages covered in tiny handwriting.
Ramona stared. “What’s that?”
“The manual.”
“Like, a demon manual?” Ramona asked, peering.
Azareth tilted the book away from Ramona’s stare.
“Just the standard issue. Ah. Here. Section 8633, subsection 12, line 734.” Azareth didn’t look up.
“‘In the event of an unauthorized summoning resulting in a binding tether, the summoned entity must remain within sixty-six feet of the summoner until such time as the original spell conditions are met or the bond is ritually severed.’” She snapped the book shut. “Sixty-six feet.”
Ramona’s brain was working through the implications. Slowly. “Sixty-six feet.”
“If I go farther than that from you, we both experience excruciating pain. The manual describes it as ‘like being torn apart from the inside.’” Azareth tucked the manual back into her pocket. “Very poetic.”
“I have a job.” Ramona’s voice came out quiet. “I have roommates. What am I supposed to tell people?”
“That’s not my problem.”
Ramona scoffed. “It is your problem. You’re here.”
“Only because you summoned me.”
“By accident.”
“Intent is irrelevant to magical law.” Azareth glanced at her watch. “I have approximately sixteen hours before Hell’s HR department notices I’m missing. Which means I need to figure out how to break this bond before I’m AWOL and they dock my PTO.”
Ramona rubbed her temples. The wine headache was setting in. “If you’re bound to me, does that mean you can’t hurt me?”
Azareth’s expression shifted slightly. Something that might have been surprise. “That’s actually a smart question.”
“I’m drunk, not stupid.”