Chapter 12
Diehle was waiting, leaning against the wall at the end of the hall. He pushed from it, blinking away the curiosity that had seeped into them at Cirrian’s absence. He hesitated before beckoning me to accompany him. A questioning glint surfaced in his eyes each time he glanced over his shoulder.
When he peered over his shoulder, I did the same, suspecting Cirrian had lost interest and left. But he’d crept up behind us, falling in step with me like a deadly shadow. The ever-present intensity of his gaze was a weight I couldn’t ignore.
Don’t give him the finger. It’s beneath you. Kara, you are better than such puerile antics. You are better than this. You’re a grown-ass woman, not some emotionally turbulent teenager.
I was indeed capable of the behavior of an emotionally turbulent teenager. It wasn’t beneath me to participate in puerile antics. Because my hand slinked behind my back to give him the finger. A deep rumble of laughter erupted from him.
Diehle stopped, lobbing an inquiring, wary look.
“She seems to amuse you in a manner I haven’t seen in you before, Cirrian. You must provide me with the details of your contract. I’m sure it’s quite interesting. Besides, I’d hate for mine to conflict with the one you have with her.”
“I trust that it won’t. I’m not one to deal and tell.
” Cirrian’s eyes challenged me. I guess my “expressive” eyes revealed that if necessary, I was prepared to use his true identity against him.
I didn’t believe my eyes were expressive enough to betray my plans, but my face, when I didn’t put effort into masking my feelings, was an entire billboard.
I’d mastered controlling it with most people in the supernatural community, but Cirrian’s presence shattered every defense I had.
Diehle waited a few beats, as if he expected Cirrian to reconsider. When he didn’t respond, we continued to the living room. The moment we’d entered the room, he turned his sights on me. “What brings you to me, Kara?” he asked.
“I need a Balic fig.”
Surprise overtook his face. His lips formed a tense curl.
“A Balic fig?” he asked, his brows drawn together like he’d misheard me.
I nodded. Studying me for a long time, his eyes narrowed, he asked, “You need it for a spell?”
I nodded again. I wouldn’t give him any more information than needed, nor did I want my desperation to betray me. The effort was moot. I was willing to make a deal with a demon. Of course I was desperate.
“Very well. Come with me.” He led me to the back of the house and opened a door to reveal a yard simultaneously beautiful and ominous.
I was drawn to the large tree isolated on the far-left side of the expansive grounds.
Its vibrant green leaves contrasted with the obsidian black trunk.
A hazy illumination surrounded each dangling fruit.
It took everything not to run to the tree, grab a few fruits, and make a mad dash for my car.
Diehle watched me closely, his gaze occasionally wandering to Cirrian.
I was acutely aware of the incessant pressure of the shadow god’s stare.
Each time I looked at him, I aimed pointed looks, urging no, demanding that he go away.
For someone who claimed I had such readable eyes, he was missing the message.
No, that clearly wasn’t it. He understood my wish and had chosen to disregard it.
“What book does the spell come from?” Diehle asked, cutting off another look lobbed in Cirrian’s direction.
“Not a spellbook, a grimoire.”
His expression flattened, but the tick in his jaw betrayed his interest. “You need the fig from me, correct?”
No, I just like visiting houses of horror because I have a fear kink.
I gave a small nod in response to his inane question.
“What are you willing to give me in return?” The lighthearted cadence to his tone hadn’t fooled me one bit, nor had it given me the impression I had a choice in what to exchange for the fig. This was clearly an exploration tactic to determine the extent of my desperation. He had a trade in mind.
I sighed. “Just tell me what you want.”
The corners of his lips lifted. “Direct. I like it. I want that grimoire.” His request wasn’t entirely unexpected, given how poorly he’d concealed his interest when I first mentioned the book. I still resented him requesting something that required Corrine’s involvement.
“It’s not mine to give,” I said, hoping for an alternative trade. It didn’t hurt to ask.
“That is unfortunate. It’s what I want in exchange for the Balic fig.” He studied me for a long moment, then frowned. “Do you need me to escort you to the door, or can you find your own way out?”
“What?” The words stumbled out with the desperation I felt.
“Did I not make my request clear?” He directed the question to Cirrian instead of me. Cirrian’s smokey deep rumble earned him a sneer from me. He looked in my direction but wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Go away.
“I’ll see what I can do. May I have a moment?”
Diehle nodded, seemingly aware I’d need to discuss it with the person who’d loaned me the grimoire.
Disappointment shadowed his features when I headed out of the room toward the entrance of the house.
I gathered that Diehle would use every scrap of information he discovered as leverage.
I wouldn’t easily provide that advantage.
The lender of the grimoire was in the need-to-know category.
I slipped my phone out of my jacket, navigating through the house so swiftly I didn’t have time to be put off or question his acquisition of the many books on the shelves.
For the highest level of privacy, I returned to my car, where I wouldn’t have to worry about preternatural hearing.
“You’re safe,” Corrine exclaimed, answering the call immediately. Her voice was high-pitched with shock.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I admitted in a whisper. This situation was a dumpster fire. Not only was I asking her to let me give one of her prized possessions to a demon, but later, I’d have to make an even bigger request.
“Ask it,” she demanded impatiently.
“Diehle wants the book in exchange for the Balic fig,” I told her. “May I give it to him?”
The silence stretched, seconds turning into minutes, each one more excruciating than the last. My wariness grew with every passing moment.
“Kara,” she started slowly, and my heart dropped. “I know this is important to you. But I’ve had that book for nearly a century. It reminds me of who I am and my beginnings. If I give it to you, understand I will have expectations of you in exchange.”
“Those are?”
“The hazard pay you unjustly charged me for the incident with Jonah must be returned. It was unreasonable and I’m irritated that I was fined for such a minor infraction. I also expect two months of complimentary services.”
Two months without pay and the return of the hazard pay was a steep price, but entirely worth it to save Amelia.
It didn’t stop me being annoyed. The House of Hollows had a seven-figure net worth and Corrine continued to be cheap as hell.
That wasn’t necessarily true. She was selectively cheap.
Heated floors in the kitchen she didn’t use—why not?
Upgrade her two-year-old phone—over someone’s dead body.
My fines annoyed her, yet of the two houses she accrued the most.
“That’s acceptable,” I said.
“You may have the grimoire to do as you wish.”
“Corrine,” I said before she could end the call, “there’s no way that grimoire is nearly a century old.
If it was, the ink would have faded to a brownish hue.
The grimoire’s print is faded black and uniform.
Bookbinders used genuine leather back then.
When it ages, it cracks and has a noticeable patina.
This cover doesn’t feel like leather. And don’t get me started on the paper.
The texture and material aren’t right for a book that’s over a century old, unless you had it restored.
If it was, the restoration isn’t even good enough to fool me. ”
My knowledge of a book’s age was due to Belham, who’d blathered endlessly about his collection of first editions that had been restored to perfection.
It was surprising how much of his ramblings I had retained, despite me smiling and nodding in a concerted effort to look interested while my mind wandered.
I adored books, but restoration techniques didn’t appeal to me.
I assumed the knowledge had sentimental value for Belham and reminded him of his human life.
Corrine’s laughter was low, almost a chortle.
Her sounds of amusement always carried a frenetic edge, as if she was on the brink of unspeakable violence.
Or maybe it was just me, remembering that sound being the precursor to her obliterating the House of Pelling.
It was unsettling to have it directed at me.
“How odd. I don’t find your cleverness as endearing as I once did.”
“It seems you despise my cleverness and boldness when it doesn’t benefit you,” I pointed out, “but adore it when it puts you at an advantage.”
“Of course. Who’d feel otherwise? Don’t be foolish, dear Kara.
” Corrine never put up pretenses, which I’d come to appreciate.
“Deal with your demon problem and don’t forget to return my money,” she said, exhibiting a confidence in my success that was dwindling in me.
I couldn’t put my finger on why her assurance had emboldened me, but I held on to it like a life jacket.
“Perhaps the peculiar witch I acquired the book from will direct their displeasure at its loss toward Diehle. That would serve us well. I have less desire to deal with that dark witch than I do the demon.” Corrine’s careful word choice wasn’t lost on me.
Classic Corrine, softening theft with the euphemism of acquire.