Chapter 17
seventeen
MERRICK
It was days before I was able to return to Graves Hollow, having spent the better part of the week investigating the looming demon incursion with Warren and Oliver, assessing the likeliness that the portal will collapse under this new, unanticipated strain.
We’ve no plan for containment. Our only chance lies in prevention, which requires the Bonnivarde witches. One in particular.
Something shifted in my absence. We’ve only just reconvened for lessons, yet she seems even more committed, determined to master her magic and embrace her role as Guardian.
Despite my mission to relieve her of that duty, my colleagues and I have determined she won’t escape it entirely; the chaos demons are growing stronger, more restless, more organized every day.
It’s no longer a matter of if they make a move, but when, and it’s unlikely we’ll have time to transfer the guardianship before that happens.
She needs to learn the skills to stabilize the portal and prevent the worst of an invasion.
Then, and only then, can we divert energy into a transfer.
Without the grimoire, all of this becomes more difficult.
“How was that?” she asks me now, drawing my attention. She stands at the edge of the summoning portal, panting, her hair a tumble of frizzy blonde waves. Her eyes reflect the candlelight. The air smells of cinnamon and brimstone. Of magic.
And there, beneath the very last of my defenses, sits the uncomfortable truth. The one she accused me of on our second meeting. The one I’ve been trying desperately to deny ever since.
I actually missed the little witch.
Naturally, to make up for lost time and/or my unexplained emotional imbalance, I’m working her extra hard today. Not that she seems the slightest bit daunted.
“Again,” I say firmly. “You need to become one with the energy barrier. Ferret out its weaknesses.”
“I got super close that time.” She wipes her forehead with the back of a delicate wrist. “Did you see the light? It’s definitely responding to me. And I could feel it, too. Like, my energy connecting with it.”
I grab my journal and pencil. Flip to a fresh page. “What did you feel, exactly? Describe it to me.”
“You know when you drink two extra-large cappuccinos in a row, with double espresso shots, and you start vibrating like there’s fire ants crawling around inside you?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever experienced that sensation, no.”
“Well, it’s kind of like that, but not as uncomfortable.
It’s warm and prickly, but also kind of soothing?
And energizing, but without being overwhelming.
” She offers a broad smile. A smile one might also describe as energizing without being overwhelming, if one were wont to comment upon such things.
“I’m ready for more, Professor. So if that wasn’t good enough, let’s try—”
“It wasn’t. I realize this might be a difficult concept for you to embrace, but we need more than prickly feelings akin to those resulting from your over-reliance on addictive substances. Go again.”
Her smile falters. I want to kick myself for ruining it, but it’s for her own good. The portal is weak. Playtime is over. We must make more tangible progress, and soon.
Regrouping, Miss Bonnivarde offers a quick nod, then closes her eyes, her brow furrowed. Raising her arms and blowing out a breath, she goes through the exercises I’ve taught her—reaching out with her senses, connecting with the energy, communicating her intention.
This time, the portal glows more brightly in response. After a few beats, her breathing steadies, and a swirling vortex forms at her feet, opening into a dark void. The candles encircling the space waver.
Suddenly, the dark void ripples, and I gasp.
Something is trying to come through.
“Stop,” I command.
“But I’m doing it! I’m connecting! Oh shit, I think I’m summoning a—”
“Cut the connection. Now.” The portal shifts, lightning arcing inside, violet and deadly. Whatever she’s called, it’s big. Still, she makes no effort to sever the tie.
“Miss Bonnivarde—”
“Wait! One more second, I’ve almost—”
“I said stop!”
She startles at my tone, breaking the connection. The portal goes dark, then fades, returning to a cement floor once again.
Crisis, for the moment, averted.
“What’d you do that for?” the obstinate witch demands. “I almost had him! A real demon!”
“A real disaster. One you would’ve had no bloody idea how to contain.” I slam my journal shut and chuck it across the room. “For fuck’s sake, woman. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“But you’re right here, watching my every move! You could’ve contained it, even if I couldn’t!”
“You are not experienced enough to make that declaration with any amount of accuracy.”
“And at this rate, I never will be. You’re hamstringing me at every turn.”
“Expecting you to follow proper procedure rather than indulging your every little whim is not hamstringing. It’s keeping you, the portal, and this entire realm safe.”
“But my whole purpose is to guard the portal and oversee demonic-witch relationships. How can I do that if you won’t even let me practice summoning actual demons?”
“It’s too soon! Can’t you see that?”
She crosses her arms, fuming. “Explain it to me like I’m five, because apparently that’s the level of understanding you think I’m capable of.”
“It’s not about capability, it’s about knowledge and experience.
Before you can properly summon and introduce yourself to demons with any sort of confidence and assurance—the bare minimum requirement for staying safe—you must gain control of the portal.
You need to understand its workings, its mysteries, its limitations.
You need to both connect with and predict the movement of the energy, the ebbs and flows, the fractures.
Without such fundamentals, how are you to know when something needs reinforcing?
Or when a bad actor is attempting to breach the energetic barrier, as we nearly just experienced?
When corrupt witches are attempting to summon and bind demons in ways that go against the Accords?
Demonic summoning is not day drinking, Miss Bonnivarde.
One does not march so cavalierly into the jaws of Hell and—”
“Dude. What the fuck is up with you today?”
“What is up with me is that I’m trying to teach an inexperienced, belligerent, overeager witch how to harness her magic and step into a very important role which she refuses to take seriously, and—”
“No. Fuck that. You’re not trying to teach me things.
Not today. Today, you’re trying to be a dick.
Well, here’s a little newsflash, professor.
You can stop trying. You’ve got it down pat.
A+ performance. Top notch.” She glares at me with a mix of revulsion and rejection, fury and pain.
It chews right through me, straight to the heart.
“On the upside, at least I know why I drew the Emperor card today. God! You’re giving me serious daddy issues, Professor Jerkface.
Quite an achievement, considering I never even had a father. ”
My response dies on my lips. I turn away. Busy myself with the books on the table. Stacking, rearranging. Opening and closing. Guilt burns anew, yet I can not bring myself to face her and apologize.
Moments pass in agonizing silence, the smell of brimstone and candle wax thick and suffocating. I’m about to leave her to her own devices, to suggest we spend a few more days apart, when suddenly I sense her shifting behind me.
I stiffen, waiting for the touch she knows better than to attempt. Hoping for it as much as I dread it.
But there’s only a soft, defeated whisper.
“What aren’t you telling me, Dr. Sutherland?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, but my defense is as weak as it sounds.
“Portal energy isn’t the only thing I can feel. We’re supposed to be in this together, yet you’re keeping me at arm’s length. What changed?”
I ignore the question. Wait, in more unbearable silence, for her to give up and retreat. To seek solace in her wine, in her marijuana, in her fantasies.
But the witch remains rooted.
I finally turn. Meet her eyes, gazing up at me not with revulsion this time, but concern. The vulnerability in her face is so raw and honest it nearly makes me stumble; I can’t recall the last time I came so close to anything so bloody human.
“You’re right,” I admit, my voice low in the dim. “I’m being irrational and overly critical, and for that, I apologize.”
Her expression softens, but only a little.
“I learned some things in Hell… things that will impact the portal and your ability to safeguard it. There’s a potential threat… My colleagues and I do not yet know how to neutralize it, or if we even can.”
“What is it?”
I pause. Debate, once again, how much to share.
“Look, Professor,” she presses. “I’m not asking you to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets here. You’re a demon—obviously you’ve got some skeletons in the closet.”
I very nearly laugh. If she only knew.
“But if something’s brewing that impacts the portal,” she continues, “I need to know. It’s my job to know—that’s what I signed up for the night you took me to the cemetery and opened my eyes to this whole world I never knew existed.
I told you I was in, and I meant it. But how can I be in—truly in—when you seem so intent on keeping me out? ”
She’s right, of course she is, and I sigh, wishing I didn’t have to admit it. “I suppose I was just… trying to protect you. To keep you from worrying about the things you can’t control.”
“When it comes to the big things in life, there’s very little any of us can control.
Even all-powerful witches and demons.” The candlelight wavers in her eyes again, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of her mouth.
“But the more knowledge we share, the more influence we can have. And from there, we can try to make better decisions. Together.”
I return her ever-growing smile. It can not be helped. “That’s very wise, Miss Bonnivarde.”
She offers an adorable shrug. “I’m pretty smart, professor. For a day-drinking, caffeine-jonesing stoner who’s made a long career out of making bad choices.”
“It’s never too late to make new ones.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting I quit drinking. Because honestly? I’m not sure I could deal with you otherwise.”
That does it. Breaks the last of the ice, and now we’re both laughing, and maybe, just maybe, we can still salvage this day after all.
“Tell you what,” I offer. “I’ll fill you in on everything I learned in Hell. You can fill me in on how your Tarot studies are progressing. And tomorrow, bright and early, we shall begin a proper curriculum on summoning and binding a low-level demon for small-scale spellwork.”
“Really?” Her eyes are positively glowing.
“Really.” I retrieve my hastily discarded journal and set it upon the table with the books. “And just so we’re clear, I never once doubted your intelligence, Miss Bonnivarde. Perhaps you should stop doubting it yourself.”
Her eyes glaze, her smile undimmed. “Dr. Sutherland, I could totally hug you.”
She lifts her eyebrows, as if awaiting my consent, and I hold my breath, considering whether to allow it, just this once.
But before I can make my decision, before I can grant myself permission to open my arms and allow myself the all-too-brief pleasure of her touch, the feel of her in my arms, the warmth of human intimacy, she steps backward and says, “But I know how you feel about hugs, so please accept my energetic hug instead.” She laughs and waggles her fingers at me, a witch playing at casting a spell.
Little does she know she’s already enchanted me, and she didn’t need an ounce of magic to do it.