Chapter 9
AT DEATH’S DOOR
SUYIN’S HEART LODGED IN HER THROAT AS SHE CLIMBED the dark staircase, sliding a hand up the wall beside her. The creepy centipede-monster statue outside her rooms had seemed like an ill omen, warning her that this was a terrible idea, but she’d ignored it.
Her footsteps were light, but they seemed amplified in the tight space. It was probably in her head, but damn it, it was nerve-racking.
At the top of the stairs, she stepped onto a narrow landing and found two looming double doors to her left. A simple latch held them shut. There was no lock or ward to pass through.
Apparently, Murmur really wasn’t afraid of his people disobeying his orders. After all that bowing and scraping, she supposed it wasn’t a big surprise. They obviously feared him, and now that she’d seen what his creepy souls could do, she didn’t blame them.
She tried not to think about what he’d do to her when he found her.
Because he was going to find her—she wasn’t delusional enough to think otherwise.
This was his domain. She was only hoping to learn something about his plans for her before she got caught.
And she was willing to risk it because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her and risk wasting her precious blood.
Self-preservation had never been her strong suit. Or maybe she’d stopped giving a fuck when she turned fifty.
She lifted the latch and slipped through the smallest crack possible. Inside, she pulled the door shut behind her and then waited in the darkness. After a moment of silent breathing, nothing jumped out at her and no furious demon came charging out to punish her, and she relaxed. Infinitesimally.
Before her was a short hallway with a high ceiling. There were two sets of double doors, one at the end, straight ahead, and the other halfway down on the right.
The question was … which one to choose?
She tiptoed down the hall, relishing the fear for the punch of life it gave her. After rotting in that dungeon for days, it felt good to get her blood pumping again.
She stopped in front of the first set of doors. Staring at them, her heart raced, and they seemed to grow larger before her eyes. Something behind them called to her, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d reached out and curled her fingers around the handle—
She snatched her hand back.
Maybe her sense of self-preservation wasn’t high, but she knew better than to blindly obey random compulsions, especially in Hell. She had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was behind there wouldn’t be good for her health.
And there was still the second set of doors.
She stepped back from temptation and continued down the hall. When she reached the end, she opened the latch as carefully as she had the first. Whisper quiet, the doors seemed to glide open of their own accord.
And then she saw the library.
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Staring in awe, she stepped inside and stood transfixed before the most incredible collection of books she’d ever beheld.
It was a witch’s utopia. Heaven in the midst of Hell.
The outer walls of the crescent-shaped room were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves.
The roof was vaulted, pointed to the tip of the tower, which meant the shelves went so high up, they almost disappeared into blackness.
Tall ladders on wheels were affixed to each section to make the highest levels accessible.
All the books were grimoires. She could tell by the Sheolic symbols and letters embossed on their tattered spines.
She was standing in what had to be the largest collection of spell books on Earth or in Hell.
It was an incredible sight to behold, and she stood rooted to the spot for several minutes just taking it all in.
Straight ahead, there was a gap in the shelves for a tall window, but the glass was so filthy and covered in cobwebs, it was almost impossible to see through.
A fireplace faced it on the opposite side near the doors, and the glowing coals in the hearth told her the library had been recently occupied.
The red sky was still dark, and the only source of light came from lanterns set periodically throughout the room.
Forget avoiding Sheolic magic. She wanted to uncover the secrets every one of these books contained, black magic or not.
The little wall space that wasn’t covered in bookshelves was occupied by messy sigil sketches drawn directly onto the stone.
Any gaps between books on the shelves were filled by jars of what appeared to be organs and small animals suspended in fluid, and there were bunches of dried herbs tied with string hanging wherever they could fit.
To the far left and right were two large worktables, and a desk stood underneath the grimy window.
Every surface was covered in books and loose papers, which spilled over the edges and were strewn across the dark floorboards.
Beside the desk, a hellgate was drawn on the ground, but the outside line had been disrupted to render it inactive.
The very center of the library was arguably the most mind-boggling sight of all.
There, a space had been cleared in the chaotic mess for the strangest, most complex sigil Suyin had ever seen.
Once her gaze caught upon it, it was impossible to look anywhere else, even at the grimoire collection.
She crept toward it, drawn by some unseen force, similar to how she’d felt standing outside the other door.
When she reached the edge, she crouched to look closer at the symbols. She didn’t recognize any of them. This wasn’t regular Sheolic magic. It had to be necromancy.
It was obviously an incredibly complicated sigil that required a high level of comprehension and skill to activate.
She peered closer at the intricate lines, marveling at the expertise and care that went into them.
They had been laid out in chalk and then painted over with a blackish substance she was sure was dried blood.
In the center of the sigil, there was a large empty circle, around which were more designs that appeared to have been scorched, blackening the surrounding floor. As if the lines themselves had burst into flame.
This had to be what Murmur was working on, the reason he wanted her blood. But what was the sigil’s purpose?
She rose from her crouch and scanned the library again, searching for any kind of clue to the purpose of his spell.
The sheer quantity of books continued to overwhelm her.
She could spend months just exploring the room, looking at all the different titles and figuring out how they were organized, without actually reading anything.
Forget being bored. She would never run out of things to do with access to a place like this.
The desk by the window caught her eye again, so she wandered over to it, careful to walk around the outside line of the big sigil. She knew better than to step into an unknown spell, even one she was pretty sure was inactive.
The papers on the desk were covered in messy sketches, re-creations of what appeared to be sections of the sigil on the floor, and handwriting so messy it was illegible. Carefully, she sorted through the loose sheets, her curiosity burning.
As she moved a stack of papers aside, she uncovered a book that lay open. Only a small corner of one page was revealed, but it was enough.
She recognized it instantly. She’d studied that very same page many times.
Heart pounding, she moved aside the rest of the pages. And there it was. Just as she’d suspected but hadn’t known for sure.
The Book of Gamigin. The book that had been stolen by a demon. This demon. Murmur had stolen her book, and then he’d stolen her.
She lifted her head and stared at the big sigil again. What do I have to do with all this? Why me?
Turning back to the grimoire, she began flipping carefully through the pages.
At this point, she knew it like the back of her hand, but maybe there was something that Marie had missed in the scan, something she hadn’t seen in her studies of it in the past, something that would give her some clue as to what—
“What part of ‘do not enter the top floor under any circumstances’ didn’t you understand?”
Her head snapped up at the sound of a familiar gruff voice. A gruff, furious voice.
Murmur stood across the room, leaning against the closed doors, arms crossed. At his feet, the smoky cloud of souls churned with agitation.
His snow-white hair spilled over his shoulders and down his chest like an icy waterfall, his tall black horns rising proudly above. He wore a long black robe belted loosely at the hips. It parted at the center, exposing a strip of pale skin that contrasted sharply against the dark fabric.
It was a casual pose, but only a fool would miss the waves of menace rolling off him.
How long had he been there? Long enough, she supposed. And there was no pretending she hadn’t been snooping.
She threw caution to the wind. She’d come this far; there was no point backing down now. “Why did you steal my grimoire?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed off the wall and prowled across the room toward her. His steps were light, noiseless. No wonder she hadn’t heard him come in.
Instinct had her shrinking back toward the window. Somewhere in her mind, she was frustrated by her show of fear, but a greater part of her recognized the danger this unhinged demon presented and warned her to tread carefully.
He came around from the side like he was intentionally herding her, trapping her with her back against the table.
He didn’t stop until he stood so close, she had to crane her neck just to see his face.
The souls at his feet engulfed hers as well, and she fought back panic at their frigid caress.
His proximity was bad enough without actual ghosts touching her.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tie you up and throw you back in the dungeon right now.”