Chapter 3 #2
“Debatable, Mortal.” Azareth pulled out the manual again, flipping to a different section. “Section 8634, line 892. ‘A binding tether prevents the summoned entity from causing direct physical harm to the summoner.’ So yes. I can’t hurt you. Even if I wanted to.”
Ramona paused, looking Azareth up and down. “Do you want to?”
Azareth smiled, and Ramona’s heart gave a distinctly prey-like squeeze. Were those fangs? Did this demon have fangs? “Ask me again in the morning,” Azareth said.
“Good enough.” Ramona reached for the grimoire, pulling it into her lap. The pages crackled under her fingers. “How do we meet the conditions of the spell? Do you know how to undo this? The tether?”
Azareth was quiet for a moment. Then she sighed. “In theory, yes.”
“In theory?”
“The spell has conditions. You summoned aid for success and fortune. The tether breaks when those conditions are met — when you achieve what you were asking for. Or…” She paused.
“There’s a ritual severance. But it requires specific components.
Rare ones. And it has to be performed at a convergence point during a new moon. ”
Ramona did a mental calculation. “Three weeks.” Three weeks would be mid-February. After Imbolc, which she would surely be skipping now. But before Ostara — the Spring Equinox Gala — which was toward the end of March.
The Ostara Gala was the magical community’s most important event of the year.
More significant than Imbolc, more formal than the Harvest Ball.
It celebrated the spring equinox, the balance of light and dark, renewal and rebirth.
Every coven in the greater Thornwood area attended.
The Thornwood Coven hosted a table. The High Priestess would be sitting with the Magical Council — the five most elite, powerful witches from Thornwood, Fernwick, and the surrounding areas.
It was the kind of event where you wore your best dress, your most elaborate glamours, and smiled while pretending your life wasn’t falling apart.
Kate and Simone would be there.
Ramona had skipped the last two years, citing work obligations that didn’t exist. Her mother had been “understanding” the first year. Disappointed the second. This year, she’d been clear: “You’re coming to Ostara, Ramona. People are starting to talk.”
But if she couldn’t break the tether at the new moon in three weeks…
“The night before Ostara,” Ramona said slowly. “There’s another new moon the night before Ostara.”
“March twentieth,” Azareth confirmed, pulling out her phone.
Ramona blinked. The phone was sleek, matte black, but something about it was… off. The screen had a faint red tint that made her eyes hurt to look at directly. And were those flame patterns moving along the edges?
Azareth tapped at the screen. When the interface loaded, Ramona caught a glimpse of app icons that looked wrong. Way too corporate. Was that one called “BrimstoneBox”?
“Looks like there’s a rather close convergence point close to downtown Fernwick. And another two hours north. In the mountains,” Azareth said, still scrolling.
“What kind of phone is that?” Ramona asked, leaning in again.
“HellBerry.” Azareth didn’t look up. “Nothing fancy. Runs on 666G.”
Ramona stared, unable to tell if this demon was telling a joke. “That’s not a real thing.”
“Works better than whatever mortal service you’re using.
” Azareth’s thumbs moved across the screen with practiced efficiency.
“Though the autocorrect is terrible. Last week it changed ‘quarterly reports’ to ‘quarterly blood sacrifices,’ and I had to explain that to three different departments. The disappointment was palpable.”
“That’s…” Ramona didn’t know what to say. “Does it actually get reception in Hell?”
“Gets reception everywhere. Underground, underwater, through magical wards.” Azareth finally looked up. “Powered by ambient suffering. Very efficient.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“That’s good infrastructure.”
The phone buzzed. The notification sound was… Was that screaming? Very faint, very distant, but definitely screaming.
“You have got to change that ringtone,” Ramona said.
“Can’t. IT disabled custom settings after someone set theirs to ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ and it caused a building-wide incident.” Azareth glanced at the notification, frowned, and tucked the phone back in her jacket pocket. “I’ll deal with that Monday.”
“So, having two new moons before Ostara should work perfectly.” Ramona wiped her sweaty palms on her T-shirt.
“Is that significant?” Azareth asked, clearly meaning the Ostara date. “The March new moon?”
“No, it’s perfect.” Something lifted in Ramona’s chest. Not quite hope, but close.
“We do the first ritual in three weeks. If it works, great. If it doesn’t — we have another chance the night before Ostara.
Either way, I can send you back to Hell before the gala.
No one has to know any of this happened. ”
Azareth was quiet for a moment. “Assuming we can get the components for the ritual. And get to the convergence point. And perform it correctly.”
“Easy enough.” Ramona felt herself relax slightly. Just a few weeks. She could hide a demon for a few weeks. She’d survived two years at Mystic Moon Books. She’d survived finding Simone and Kate together. She’d survived the incident.
She could survive seven weeks. Ramona considered for a moment, then pressed on to ask, “You said until the conditions of the spell are met?”
Azareth nodded, not looking up from her HellBerry. “Mm-hmm.”
“And how can we do that?” Ramona asked. “You can bring me success and fortune?”
Azareth glanced up, tilting her head. “Is that what you want?”
This felt like a trick. The predatory stillness of Azareth’s body unnerved her.
“I think let’s focus on the ritual. It’s far more likely to work.”
Azareth nodded, looking back to her phone.
“So I just have to keep you hidden until then,” Ramona said. “That’s manageable. A few weeks. Seven, at most.”
“And this Ostara event?”
“A gala. Very formal. Very public. Every witch in Fernwick attends.” Ramona shook her head. “But you’ll be back in Hell by then. This will all be over.”
“You seem confident.”
“I have to be.” Ramona pulled the grimoire into her lap, flipping through pages with renewed focus. “Do you know what components we need? For the ritual?”
Azareth rattled off a list that made Ramona’s stomach sink. “Moonstone dust. Blessed salt from a convergence point. Hawthorn branches cut at midnight. A drop of blood from both the summoner and the summoned.” She paused. “A willing severance. Both parties have to want the bond broken.”
Ramona nodded. “Perfect. Ideal. Easy.”
Azareth raised one dark brow. “Easy.”
Ramona looked up sharply. “You want to go back to Hell.”
“Of course,” Azareth agreed. “But the magic will know if either of us hesitates. Even for a second.”
“I won’t hesitate.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Ramona went back to the grimoire, squinting at the cramped handwriting in the dim light. If she could just find something — anything — that might help. A counter-spell. A loophole. Some way to speed up the timeline.
“You should sleep,” Azareth said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re yawning.”
Ramona was, in fact, yawning. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I need to understand what I did. How the spell works. Maybe there’s something in here that can help us break it faster.”
“There isn’t.”
“You don’t know that.” Ramona turned another page. Her eyes were struggling to focus on the text. “There has to be something.” She glanced toward her bookshelf, toward the books she hadn’t touched in two years. Maybe there was something in there.
Azareth was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: “There isn’t. I already checked.”
But Ramona wasn’t listening. She was turning pages, scanning spells, her exhausted brain trying to parse magical theory while running on cheap wine and desperation.
A Spell for Finding Lost Objects. No.
To Summon Rain During Drought. Useless.
For the Removal of Unwanted Facial Hair. She paused on that one, intrigued for a moment, then kept going.
“You should sleep, Mortal,” Azareth said again.
“I’m reading.”
But her eyes were getting heavier. The words were swimming on the page. Something about… lunar phases… and… binding rituals… and…
A Spell for the Permanent Freshness of Baked Goods.
Ramona’s eyes slid closed. The grimoire was still open in her lap, her finger marking a page about keeping bread from going stale.