Chapter 12 #2
“That depends on what I’m trying to accomplish.
” He propped a hip against the side of the table.
“Generally, more powerful spells require a greater sacrifice. A personal sacrifice has the greatest effect. If the caster choses something that has great value to them, no matter how seemingly insignificant, that can have more power than a meaningless death.”
She looked briefly up at him. “Like something that has sentimental value?”
“Yes. Or someone.” He studied his claws.
“Sacrificing a person the caster has bonded to is one of the most powerful offerings in all of magic. This is why an experienced practitioner avoids personal attachments. Because the moment they bond to someone, the object of their attachment becomes a powerful ingredient in a spell. And if the desire for the success of the spell is great enough, they will utilize it. If they do not, all their other sacrifices will never measure up to that potential potency, and they will unknowingly cripple themself.”
“That’s cold,” Suyin said.
He met her gaze. “Power always comes at a cost.”
She looked back at the grimoire and muttered, “And knowledge is power.”
He smiled thinly. “Sheolic magic isn’t what humans have made it out to be. Where Temporal magic uses the power of nature and celestial bodies, Sheolic requires personal fortitude. You must ask yourself, what are you willing to give up to progress?”
Her eyes lifted back to his. “What did you give up?”
He studied her for a moment, considering his answer. “Everything. I gave up everything, even my own mind.”
She swallowed.
He tracked the movement of her throat, oddly transfixed by that slender column and the hollows above her clavicles. The fire was warm, and she had removed her sweater, revealing more of her skin.
She didn’t have the typical woman’s shape of curves and softness. Her body was lean and slender with sharp angles—her jawline, her shoulder blades—and yet, she was graceful and lithe. Like a dancer.
A little dark dancer, with her black hair and piercing gaze.
Unsettled by his bizarre thoughts, he shook himself, pushed off the desk, and headed toward the door. There was work to do, and no time to waste in idle thought and conversation.
“Wait,” she said, and for some godforsaken reason, he actually stopped and turned back. This was the third time he’d heeded that request, and it was starting to vex him.
He arched a brow.
“Are there any books on necromancy in the pile?” she asked.
He shot her a look. She was either clueless or an evil genius, because that was the one topic sure to gain his interest one hundred percent of the time.
“You want to learn the art of the dead?” he asked. “If Sheolic magic is dangerous, necromancy is even more so.”
“It can’t be worse than demon summoning.”
He smiled. “And you wish to learn that as well, I presume? The risks are high.” A demon resisted a summoning with every ounce of their being. The slightest mistake in the sigil or casting process and the demon would escape and slaughter the caster in retaliation for attempting to enslave them.
“Not really, to be honest,” she replied. “And I don’t know if I want to learn necromancy so much as understand it. I’m curious.”
He pursed his lips and studied her with indecision for another moment. And then that cursed impulsive voice whispered at him again to give her what she sought, and like a fool, he heeded it.
He crossed to the opposite side of the room. Sliding a ladder over, he climbed several rungs and pulled a familiar grimoire from the shelf. He carried it over and set it on the table in front of Suyin.
“There.” He tapped a claw on the cover. “This is the first in my own collection of texts and serves as a suitable overview of the fundamentals of the practice.”
Her eyes widened. “You wrote this?”
He gave her a look. “There is an entire section of this library full of my grimoires. Yes, I wrote it.”
Her brows shot up, and he was almost offended.
“I am called the Necromancer. Of course I’ve written grimoires, and of course I am the best source of knowledge on the subject. Who else would you expect to know more than I?”
Her mouth opened and then closed again. “No one, I guess. Still, I’m impressed.”
He scoffed. “Your praise is meaningless.”
She rolled her eyes.
Gritting his teeth, he strode away. Just days ago, she’d been cowering at the sight of him. Now she rolled her eyes blatantly before him.
“Where are you going?” she asked just as his fingers curled around the door handle.
He glared at her over his shoulder. She’d never asked him questions, and now suddenly, she was full of them and fearless in their delivery.
“I am a Duke of Hell,” he reminded her haughtily. “I rule a vast territory.”
“I know, but—” She paused and seemed to be reconsidering her question. But she pressed on. “What does that entail?”
“If you’re trying to discover weaknesses in my defenses, I assure you—”
She scoffed, and his eyes narrowed at her impudence. “I don’t care about that,” she said. “We have a bargain. So as long as you’re not trying to kill or torture me, we’re good, remember? I’m asking because I’m curious, that’s all.”
“You know what they say about curiosity.”
She shrugged. “The cat may be dead, but at least it lived a good life on its way out. I’d rather die curious than live in fear.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stifle it. Only she would think that. He’d never met a more brazen person.
He found himself answering her question. “My souls patrol the boundaries of my territory, but I must regularly check the perimeters and refresh the wards so the magic remains strong.”
“You don’t have servants for that?”
“Demons are some of the most incompetent, witless creatures in creation.”
“Not all of them.” She gave him a pointed look.
Was she calling him intelligent? Of course he was. He didn’t need veiled compliments to point that out. “The ones that aren’t dim-witted are rulers of their own territories. Half the challenge of being among the Order of Thrones is managing the vacuous minds of one’s legions.”
“So you don’t trust them with important tasks like monitoring your borders. You have to do everything yourself. But you still let them live here, free of charge.”
She made it sound like he was performing a charity. He made a sour face. “They obey my commands when I give them. If they don’t, I impale them on the tower spikes. Have you already forgotten what lies beyond the window you so diligently cleaned?”
She winced.
“Perhaps I should give you a tour of the rest of the dungeon to remind you what I do with people who challenge me,” he continued. “I believe you missed some of my favorite rooms.”
“Okay, I get it. You’re evil and terrifying.” She looked unimpressed, and that irritated him.
“I’ll be commencing the first steps of the ritual tomorrow,” he decided. It was time to finish this and return this recalcitrant witch from whence she came. “You will be available to assist me, as you vowed.”
She nodded. “Anything I need to do to prepare?”
“Keep your blood in your body until I need it.”
He turned and opened the door, but once again, her damned voice stopped him.
“Murmur?”
“What?” he snapped, annoyed with himself for listening to her as much as he was annoyed with her for stalling him.
“Thanks for the books.”
His lip curled. “Mmph,” was his response, and then he swept out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.