Chapter 18
eighteen
MERRICK
In light of what she’s now referring to as our conversational breakthrough—a term I reluctantly embraced only after vetoing her initial declaration, the conversational enema—Miss Bonnivarde has radically intensified her efforts, and the results are promising.
We spend the next couple of weeks practicing energy manipulation and portal maintenance, alternating between the basement and the cemetery whilst her sisters are tied up with their various mundane tasks.
I’m pleased to report my student has made great strides in connecting with and strengthening the portal.
Its energy is responding well to hers, forming a symbiotic relationship that will continue to ease her task going forward.
In the evenings, she slips away for sessions with Helena and Mary Shelley, studying Tarot and the fundamentals of magic. Her progress on that front has been equally spectacular.
The Wielders of the Righteous Flame have yet to make their presence known.
Miss Bonnivarde expressed some initial concerns about her mother’s attorney, but a thorough search of records by Warren turned up nothing out of the ordinary; the man has a confirmed law degree, works for the practice his family has owned for over a hundred years, and is well-respected among his peers.
He’s a twat, yes. But a legitimate twat. Besides, Miss Bonnivarde hasn’t seen him since their first encounter, and her sister claims their ongoing meetings have been both professional and productive.
From the Hellfront, Oliver has reported a growing frustration among the chaos demons.
While there were early unconfirmed reports of a handful slipping through the portal in the immediate aftermath of Evelyn’s death, none have been able to accomplish such a breach recently.
That only solidifies my assessment that Miss Bonnivarde is doing a bang-up job, even without the guidance of her grimoire.
There is still no sign of it.
“I have a good feeling about today,” Miss Bonnivarde says now, beaming at me from her position at the edge of the portal.
In the weeks since we began working together, not only has she harnessed and strengthened her magical abilities, but she’s grown infinitely more confident in herself.
It shines from within, illuminating every inch of her, and me as well.
As a professor, I can think of nothing as rewarding as witnessing a promising student’s evolution.
As a demon—one who began life as a man and still feels the same longings, despite every attempt to dismiss them—I can think of nothing more distracting. For with her newfound confidence has come an even more radiant beauty, a magnetism that draws me ever closer.
With any luck, the stars of Hell and earth will align, and I will complete this damnable mission before I’m wholly incinerated by her.
“You should feel good,” I reply, pencil and field journal at the ready. “Today’s the day you summon and bind your first demon.”
She claps and bounces on her toes, cheeks glowing like dew-kissed rose petals.
Bloody hellfire, let that sentimental simile be stricken from the record, lest I fall headlong into the days of my misspent, horrible-poetry-obsessed adolescence!
“You know what card I drew today?” she asks. “The Six of Wands. Victory is at hand, Dr. Sutherland. I can practically taste it!”
I can’t help but grin, so infectious is her enthusiasm. “Then we’d better get to it.”
She walks me through her plan: final safety check, ground and center, tap into the energetic flow, connect with the portal, cast her intention to call forth a low-level demon for a simple spell, and bind with an energetic tie.
“Pop quiz,” I reply. “What if your energetic tie frays before you’re able to fully bind your demon?”
“That’s what the Devil’s trap is for.”
“And what is a Devil’s trap, exactly?”
“Our failsafe.” She walks the perimeter of the portal, double-checking the ancient symbols we recently re-painted, ensuring none are broken or smudged.
“If the tie frays, or the demon is more powerful than I anticipated, the trap is designed to contain it until I’m able to re-bind it and direct it to my magical working, or release it back to Hell. ”
“Excellent. So why are we conducting the summoning practice here, rather than near the cemetery, where your magic is arguably stronger?”
“My magic may be stronger, but we can’t paint a reliable Devil’s trap outdoors. The conditions are too unpredictable. As a new practitioner, I need to master summoning multiple levels of demonic entities with my training wheels still on before I can go off-roading.”
I beam at her. “You’ve done your homework.”
“Trust me, Professor. I’m ready for this.”
“In that case…” I adjust my spectacles. Press the pencil to my page. “Please proceed, Miss Bonnivarde.”
She closes her eyes, extends her arms, and begins. Her face no longer creases in concentration, her shoulders no longer stiffen. She’s poised and relaxed, easing into her magic as she was always meant to.
The portal responds at once, the cement transitioning to a dark and swirling vortex that flashes with its familiar sparks of lightning.
Very good, I think, but don’t speak aloud, lest I distract her. Very controlled.
After just a few moments, I see it—the entity she’s summoning forth. Her eyes remain closed, but I can tell she senses it; she widens her stance, as if reeling in a fish. The entity slowly emerges, light and formless.
“You’re nearly there,” I say, as non-intrusively as I can. “Bind the energy to yours.”
She nods, her concentration unwavering, and the entity floats above the portal, then stops, suspended in her magic.
Miss Bonnivarde opens her eyes. Lowers her hands. And laughs. “Oh my god, I did it! That’s… it’s beautiful! In a totally creepy kind of way, but… damn! Am I right?”
I echo her laughter. “You are, in fact, right. Tell me—”
“How it feels, yes, I know.” She glances down at her hands, fingers splayed. “It feels like I’m holding something inside me. Like, some kind of tether. It’s connected to mine, but it has its own pull too. It seems eager.”
“The imp responded to your call. Now, it’s seeking a purpose.”
“To be useful,” she said.
“Precisely.”
Eyeing it up again, she says, “It looks like a jellyfish without the tentacles.”
“Without a specific assignment, imps will remain nearly formless. Low-level demonic entities do not have wills of their own—not in the way you or I do. Imp energy can be mischievous if set loose without a purpose, but it’s rarely dangerous.
That said, for a talented witch with clear intentions, imp energy can absolutely be channeled into more dangerous spells. ”
“It all comes down to power and intent, right?”
“Exactly. Are you ready to cast your first spell?”
She offers an enthusiastic nod.
“Start small,” I say. “A simple visual spell should do the trick. What would you like to see? Imagine it, hold it in your mind’s eye, and send it out through your energetic connection. If the magic is clear and strong, you should see your vision come to life.”
“Got it. Okay, check this out. This one’s for you, Professor.” Still grinning, she raises her hands again and takes a deep, steadying breath. Seconds later, the imp shifts into a bouquet of wildflowers made of pure, multicolored light.
“Wonderful! Brilliant!” I pump a fist. An outward show of enthusiasm so rare and unexpected, even Miss Bonnivarde looks shocked.
“Professor. Did you just… fist pump?”
“Tell no one,” I tease. “But it was well deserved, nevertheless. And thank you for the flowers. Very thoughtful.”
“Your ears are turning red.”
“It’s… unseasonably warm down here.” I clear my throat. Loosen my cravat. “In any case, that was excellent work. Next time, we’ll try a more advanced spell, but I think we can place this one firmly in the victory column.”
“The Six of Wands called it.”
“Indeed.”
She gazes up at her flowers of light, still glowing between us. “So these imps… can they be, like, sicced on someone?”
“How do you mean?”
“Like, let’s say a certain someone is a horrible shithead. Could I direct the imp to do a little… psychological damage? Or physical. I’m not picky.” She laughs. “I mean—the theoretical witch we’re theoretically talking about would not, in theory, be picky.”
“I see. Well, if said witch truly wanted to inflict harm, she could—”
Before I’ve finished the thought, the bouquet melts, transforming into something that looks less like a spring day and more like an eight-pound scorpion, which is arguably a thing that would cause both psychological and physical damage, and very likely ruin a perfectly clean pair of undergarments, not to be indelicate.
Miss Bonnivarde gasps at her own creation.
I arch an eyebrow. “Sounds like our theoretical witch has already got someone in mind.”
“Fine, fine.” She sighs and rolls her pretty green eyes. “My ex. Literally the worst. He actually… Never mind. Not worth mentioning.”
I try not to tense up at the mention of an ex, but it’s no simple task. What ex? How long ago were they involved? Why hasn’t she mentioned him before?
Why is my outspoken, stubborn, audacious little witch suddenly mousy and embarrassed, leaving her thoughts unfinished?
“He actually what, Miss Bonnivarde? What did you mean to say?”
“It… doesn’t matter.” Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of rose, eyes downcast, shoulders rolling inward. “I just wondered if it was possible to use demon magic that way. For, like, personal reasons. Or if that’s against the rules or whatever.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t, and the scorpion imp returns to its original formless blob.
I make a quick note in the journal; the imp energy is very much in sync with her emotions and thoughts, which indicates her witchcraft is growing even more powerful than I thought.