Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Isit on my bed, staring at the crescent moon scar on my forearm where Tharuzel’s claw sliced through my skin. The wound healed the moment I woke on Arcana’s lawn, but the mark remains—a thin, silver brand that pulses faintly in time with my heartbeat.
Signed in blood.
My stomach churns. What did I agree to? What exactly did that contract say?
I told Wylder I fainted from the stress of unlocking my powers, combined with too little sleep and too much magical training. Dr. Thorne examined me, found nothing physically wrong, and prescribed rest and a night of food and friendship.
They bought it.
But the stench of sulfur still clings to my hair, and I feel the heat of that hellscape crawling under my skin.
I need to talk to Asher. To Vale. To someone who can tell me what I’ve done and how bad this really is. Maybe Sebastian.
But what will I say? Hey Ash, you know how we swore to face the world together no matter what? Well, I just signed a demon contract to protect my sisters. No big deal. You’re in for it, right?
I groan inwardly and slide my feet off the bed. There’s nothing I can do about it right now. And maybe it’s not as bad as I’m imagining. I shift over to my little desk and trace the sigil to find peace. The tension twisting my gut eases instantly.
“Right. Okay. I’ve got this.”
With hope burgeoning inside me like a tender bud, I focus on the potted plant on my desk—or rather the pot of dirt that’s been sitting here since my first lesson with Wylder.
Not even a sad little sprout has pushed through the soil.
In truth, I didn’t pay it much attention, and after today’s block removal, I should be able to do way more.
Wylder said I have an incredible amount of power.
Doesn’t that mean I should be able to make something grow?
Wouldn’t that prove that I’m still me and am in the good graces of the Goddess Mother?
Still a child of her Wiccan world.
I press my palms against the cool ceramic pot and close my eyes, focusing on the teachings from that first day.
“Earth’s life-giving properties. Encourage the microorganisms. Water flows, adapts, and nurtures.
Air carries the potential of all things.
And fire is represented by the transformative power of the sun. ”
I draw each element together, weaving them into a thread of pure intention, and push that energy to envelop my little plant.
Grow.
The soil shifts. Something stirs beneath my fingers.
I open my eyes and watch as green shoots break through the surface, unfurling into delicate leaves. The stem pushing them through the soil thickens, stretching upward as tiny buds form along the branches.
Relief floods through me. It’s working. I’m still me. The demon mark hasn’t—
The leaves darken.
It’s not the rich green of healthy growth, but something more. Black veins spider across the surface, and the buds twist, opening into flowers that look like rotted flesh. The roots writhe out of the pot, slithering across the desk like seeking fingers.
“No, no, no—”
I yank my hands back, but the plant keeps growing. Tendrils reach for the window, for the walls, and where they touch, frost spreads in diseased patterns.
The demon mark on my arm burns.
Panic claws up my throat as I grab the pot and shove it into my closet, slamming the door shut. My hands shake as I lean against it, breathing hard.
What is happening to me?
A knock on the door makes me jump.
“Poppy?” Orion’s voice filters through the wood. “You okay in there?”
I press my back harder against the closet, then glimpse my reflection in the mirror above the desk. My eyes look too bright, my skin too pale. The crescent scar gleams silver against my forearm.
“Yeah,” I call back, my voice only slightly strangled. “Fine.”
The door cracks open, and Orion pokes his head in. His silver-blue eyes scan the room with that unnerving feline awareness, lingering on the closet for a beat too long.
“Wylder sent me to check on you.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “He said you looked pretty rough after your fainting spell.”
“Just needed some rest.” I force myself to step away from the closet, rubbing at the mark on my arm. “I’m good now.”
His gaze drops to my hand, and I stop mid-rub.
“Rowan and Wylder went to raid the food hall,” he says after a moment. “We figured you might want to stay in and hang for a quiet night.”
The normalcy of the offer makes something tight in my chest loosen slightly.
“Yeah, a quiet night sounds good.”
A hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Okay, good. They’ll be back in a few. Come out when you’re ready.”
I follow him out, pulling the door shut behind me and praying that whatever’s growing in my closet stays there.
The common room smells like Chinese food and pizza—a weird combination that somehow works after a long week of training.
Orion claims the armchair by the window, his long legs draped over one side as he scrolls through his phone.
Rowan sprawls across the couch, boots kicked off, munching on a spring roll.
I’m on the floor, my back against the couch, picking at my plate of chicken lo mein.
Wylder sits at the worktable, reviewing notes on his iPad from today’s training session like the overachiever he is. Thankfully, the others have either gone to the Magical Mystery event or are in their rooms.
Rowan finishes her flaky tube of deep-fried delish and then wipes her fingers. “So, did you set anyone on fire today?”
I grin. “No, I did not.”
“Yay, you, Pops,” Orion says without looking up. “And did Wylder give you a proper gold star for your improvement?”
Wylder doesn’t dignify that with a response, but his jaw tightens.
“Dude, do you know how to smile?” Rowan tilts her head, studying him with genuine curiosity. “Seriously, she’s had one week of training and known about magic for less than three. Most witches spend years before they can handle anything, let alone command the elements and conjure affinity fire.”
Wylder looks up from his notes. “Her powers have been bottled up for years. It’s not surprising that she’s powerful. What we’re working on is her becoming less volatile.”
“Speaking of volatile,” Orion drawls, finally glancing up. “Did you ever figure out what’s up with your familiar?”
I pause mid-noodle-twirl. “Nope. And I don’t even care.”
Wylder straightens, the usual crease in his brow growing more furrowed. “You have a familiar? Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Because it’s a nonissue.” I finish my food and get up to take my plate to the sink. “He showed up when I went to my mom’s crypt, insulted me, called me incompetent, and then flipped me off and vanished. I haven’t seen him since.”
Rowan laughs. “Wow. Just another layer of shitty heaped on you.”
I wave the sympathy away. “Nah, I learned long ago that I don’t need people in my life who aren’t pulling for me. I certainly don’t need a mouthy little demon asshole that doesn’t want to be there.”
Wylder closes his notebook looking annoyed. “You’ve got a demon familiar?”
My attention shifts from rinsing my plate to meeting the curious gaze of my tutor. “Yeah, why? Is that weird? My lawyer made it sound like it was business as usual.”
Wylder shrugs. “Yeah, that might be true. Witches can get assigned familiars from any number of magical sources: demons, fairies, mythologicals, elementals, celestials, spirit-kin… It usually comes down to matching personalities with energies and affinities.”
My noodles sink heavily into my belly. “And I got assigned a demon.”
He frowns. “Maybe it’s a spirit affinity thing, or maybe it’s because of your demon mark. I can’t say why, but those who are granted a familiar gain significant advantages. They amplify power, provide magical insight, and act as anchors during complex spellwork.”
“Well, mine’s useless then,” I say flatly.
“He’s not useless,” Wylder corrects. “He’s being willfully resistant. There’s a difference.”
Rowan reaches back into the hood of her oversized sweatshirt and pulls out a small, leathery creature with folded wings and sleepy eyes. “Meet Nox.”
The bat yawns, showing tiny fangs, then blinks at me lazily before tucking back into Rowan’s hood.
“He mostly sleeps,” she says fondly. “But when I’m out at night and I need him, he’s there.”
I look at Orion. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. “My shifter genes are dominant. Familiars won’t bond with me. They read me as a predator, not a partner.”
My attention shifts to Wylder.
He shakes his head as well. “My family has a guiding patronus instead. It’s a different tradition, but with the same concept. A spiritual ally.”
I slump back against the couch. “And I got stuck with a sarcastic demon who hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Wylder says. “He’s likely just pissed that he’s bound to a witch, and it has very little to do with you. Still, letting him blow you off isn’t acceptable.”
I shrug. “How do I make him show up?”
Wylder stands, crosses to a shelf and pulls out a small, flat stone etched with runes. He hands it to me. “This is a focus rune. It’ll stabilize a witch’s channeling and make a summons harder to ignore.”
I turn the stone over in my palm. It’s warm, thrumming faintly. “A summons? So, that’s it? I just call him?”
“Pretty much.”
I take a breath, closing my fingers around the rune. “Okay, magic, play nice.”
I let the energy gather, not forcing it, just guiding it. The rune warms first, then hums, vibrating against my palm. Threads of power snake outward, brushing the edge of my awareness. The air thickens, charged with my intention. The rune is listening now, waiting to see what I’ll do with it.
“S’Nark, you’re my familiar, and you need to be here.”
The stone flares bright red in my hand, so hot I almost drop it. Then it cracks in two with a sharp snap, smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. The smoke thickens, coalescing into a small, horned shape with glowing yellow eyes.
Blue flame licks the edges of the manifestation, and then a small gremlin thing with leathery skin and floppy ears appears in a swirl of sulfur. He bears no resemblance to the glowing blue cat I first met, but the moment it opens its mouth, I know it’s him.
“Ugh. For the love of crotch rot, you’ve got some nerve, witchlette.” His voice is slurred, each word dragging like he’s been sampling the whiskey in the underworld. “You summoned me during happy hour?”
I blink. “Are you drunk?”
He coughs dramatically and waves a tiny, clawed hand in front of his face. “Simply taking the edge off the tasty treat that is my life. There’s a difference, Sparkles.”
Rowan snorts. “Sparkles?”
I roll my eyes. “Did I fail to mention how charming he is?”
Orion chuckles. “I like him.”
S’Nark squints at me, swaying slightly. “So, why am I here? I already told you I’m not interested in dumbing down to the likes of a plebe. I’ve got a reputation in certain circles.”
I’m afraid to think about what circles they might be. “Well, I’ve been training. I’m much better now.”
He straightens and scratches at the leopard print boxers he’s wearing. “Yep, you’re rocking it. I’m sure that’s why you snapped a focus rune in half during a basic summons. You know those things are practically indestructible, right?”
“Well, maybe you’re just that toxic to summon.”
He burps, then grins lazily. “Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a disaster with training wheels.”
“And you’re a sarcastic asshole who smells like cheap tequila and sweaty gym socks.”
He holds up a finger. “That would be expensive tequila and sex, thank you very much.”
Wylder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Congratulations, Hallowind, you’ve bonded with a real gem. Try not to lose control of your spirit fire near him. He’s going to go up like a bonfire.”
S’Nark hisses at Wylder, then turns back to me. “Lose control of your spirit fire? Are you saying you actually accomplished conjuring spirit fire?”
“Started one hell of a blaze,” I shoot back. “Maybe I’ll do it again and see just how flammable you are.”
“Maybe I’ll let you. Nothing like a good razing to get the blood pumping.”
We glare at each other. The room falls silent except for Orion’s barely concealed laughter.
Finally, S’Nark sighs, his pointed tail flicking. “Fine. If you can set things on fire, you’re not a total waste of air. What do you want from me?”
“I want your help. I don’t know what I’m doing, and you’re supposed to help me.”
He tilts his head, yellow eyes narrowing. For a moment, the drunken haze clears, and something sharper looks back at me. “Yeah, I’m not sure there’s any helping you.”
I roll my eyes and let out a long sigh, looking at Wylder. “Do you honestly think he offers me anything worth having?”
S’Nark scoffs. “Rude, Sparkles.”