Chapter 20 #2
“He’s denying it,” Oliver says. “Doesn’t think it’s an issue.
The rock-headed fuck. He’s a prime target, but his fucking ego won’t let him believe he’s at risk.
Thinks no one would dare go toe-to-toe with him, especially since his forces quashed the latest uprising.
Plus, he’s counting on you to get the job done up here—”
“Further securing the portal,” I say, shooting him a warning glare, lest he inadvertently reveal any other details about my task.
“Right.” Oliver clears his throat. “Right, so… like I said. He’s not worried. He’s arrogant, and that’s bad news for all of us.”
“But… what does that all mean?” Miss Bonnivarde asks. “I get that these chaos demons are a clusterfuck, and we definitely don’t want them breaching the portal. But what happens if they get their way? Worst-case scenario?”
Oliver sighs. “Depends on whether your version of worst-case is everybody on earth dying all at the same time in a spectacular implosion, or more of a slow, torturous, dragged-out demonic murder spree with lots of blood and gore. Either scenario is equally likely, along with about a million others, because—you know—chaos demons.”
“Start with the blood and gore,” she says. “Paint me a picture. We need details, or we can’t prepare for it. And if we can’t prepare, what chance do we have?”
Warren’s smile is back. “You’d better watch this one, Merri. She could be in the running for Matthias’s next commander.”
“Hard pass,” she says. “That sounds like a lot of work for not enough reward. Now, blood and gore. Hit me, Ollie.”
“Demons are an angry lot, by definition,” Oliver replies.
“Not the nice chaps we’ve led you to believe.
See, we’re all on good behavior right now, sitting at the table like civilized men, because we’ve got big fancy jobs down there for big fancy people, and we need to act accordingly if we want to keep it that way.
Also, you’re a sweet girl, and we like you. ”
“Aww! I like you guys too!”
Satan, grant me the serenity… to not murder my best mates in front of my student… and set their mangled limbs aflame…
“But chaos demons,” Oliver continues, “take rage to a whole new level. Think of the most violent human criminals you’ve ever heard about.
I’m talking real, grade-A shit stains. Then imagine every one of them dies, and reincarnates, but all into a single entity.
Then imagine there are millions of these entities, who’ve spent centuries and eons being tortured and tormented in ways I won’t even tell you about because you’d have goddamn nightmares for the rest of your natural born life.
Now, imagine all those monsters are banging down the gates to your world, and the force of it, the sheer overwhelming magnitude of it…
Hell literally breaks loose, and the portal fails, and every last one of those mega-beasts is suddenly free.
Free to ravish your realm as they see fit, so powerful that not even the military could stop them.
The military wouldn’t even think to stop them, though, you know why?
I’ll tell you why. These fuckers… they don’t operate like your average tear-everyone-limb-from-limb monster.
They go for the mental attacks, invading the mind, twisting it until their prey is hallucinating so badly he’s tearing off his own flesh.
Setting his neighbors on fire. Eating his own children.
And the chaos demons are just as happy to sit back and watch mankind eradicate itself, then swoop in for the spoils when the hard work is over.
” Oliver sips his coffee and shrugs. “I mean, that’s just off the top of my head there. Could go another way entirely.”
I roll my eyes. “Thank you, as ever, for the eloquent description.”
He raises his mug in cheers. “Finally putting my Oxford degree to use.”
“As much as I’m sure Miss Bonnivarde appreciates your colorful elucidation of the end times, let’s hope it doesn’t come to all that.”
“Hope is not a strategy, mate,” Warren says.
“So what’s our play, then?” Miss Bonnivarde asks. “Really, is there anything we can do to prevent this? Or at least avoid the worst of it?”
“We need more magic—that’s what it all comes down to.
” Warren fetches the coffee pot, tops everyone off.
“You need to find the grimoire. That book contains the history of your magical lineage. Every experiment, every spell, every bit of craft your ancestors ever created. That’s where your true power lies, and therefore your best chance at powering up your magic and reinforcing the portal, rebuking the chaos demons, and forging new contracts between witches and demons that can protect everyone involved. ”
He’s absolutely right, and his argument is sound. Still, it twists my gut to know it’s Hell’s needs we’re representing, not the needs of the human realm. Not the needs of the Bonnivarde witches. Not the needs of this Bonnivarde witch.
“There’s also your sisters, love.” Oliver places a hand over hers, a gentle and platonic touch, a touch meant merely for encouragement, yet I recoil inside. I should be the one offering comfort. The one she looks to for a hand to hold, an supportive word, a kind smile.
But she has looked to me for those things. And I’ve shut her down every time.
What happened to you, Dr. Sutherland? Why don’t you like to be touched?
“You need to bring them into the fold,” Oliver continues.
“I admire your courage, Lizzy. And from everything Merri’s told us, you’re doing great work.
But the Bonnivarde witches are much stronger together.
With your bond, your combined powers, and the grimoire?
With that kind of juice, yeah. Maybe there’s a shot. ”
“The problem with the grimoire,” I say, feeling the need to remind everyone, “is that it’s been stolen. Likely by hunters, who’ve remained hidden in the wake of Evelyn’s death. We’ve got no leads, and—”
“Actually, we might have one.” Miss Bonnivarde rubs her finger over her lip, thinking.
Then, “I’m telling you. This Killroy guy is in on it somehow.
” She briefs them on the situation with the lawyer.
“I’m not saying he’s a hunter, or that he killed my mother, but he’s definitely working some kind of angle.
He knows a lot more about her death than he’s letting on. ”
“Why are you still so certain he’s involved?” I ask. “From everything you’ve said, your first and only encounter notwithstanding, he seems to be doing the job for which he was allegedly hired.”
“You mean aside from the fact that I had a vision of my mother about to get all stabby with the guy?”
“You don’t know if the vision was associated with his presence or merely an echo from an earlier time involving someone else entirely.”
She huffs. She shrugs. She looks everywhere but at me.
“Out with it, Miss Bonnivarde.”
“Fine. Okay. Don’t freak out, but—”
I brace for freaking out.
“—there was another encounter.”
“What? When? Why haven’t you mentioned this?”
“Because it wasn’t directly with Killroy, and nothing really happened anyway.
It’s just… The other day, my sister mentioned the gala again.
Apparently Killroy’s been pushing hard to make sure the three of us are attending, which…
why would he care? Just because he’s selling off some of my mother’s old stuff?
Like, we don’t need to be there for that.
Anyway, the way she was going on about it, I just got this…
this weird feeling. So I called his office. ”
“You what?”
“I didn’t tell them who I was! I pretended like I was just a rando interested in gala tickets, and the assistant got all sputtery and suspicious, then informed me—in a super bitchy way—the gala was not open to the public and no further information was available. Then he hung up on me!”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Miss Bonnivarde, a curt assistant does not a witch-hunting conspiracy make.”
“I’m not calling it a conspiracy, but it was definitely suspicious.
And now that we’re bringing up the grimoire again, and the hunters, and the whole thing…
yeah.” She nods, as if to solidify the idea in her mind.
“I think it’s worth investigating. The way he acted at my house that day…
he was sniffing around, Dr. Sutherland. For more than just antiques. He didn’t like that I was onto him.”
“What do you propose, then? We just converge on his residence, tie him to a chair, and force a confession?”
Oliver laughs. “Come on, Merri. Even you could devise a more creative torture session than that. A chair? Really? I say we get a red-hot fire poker, a bottle of vinegar, a feather, and—”
“Therapy, Oliver,” I say. “I’m fairly certain our employee benefits plan covers it. Take advantage.”
“I propose,” says Miss Bonnivarde, giving Oliver a playful smack, “that you listen to my plan. It’s a real banger.”
I can tell by the way she’s grinning that another terrible idea is about to fling itself unceremoniously from her mouth. One in which I will doubtlessly find myself thoroughly ensnared.
Miss Bonnivarde’s will, I’ve learned through our time together, is a wrecking ball that can not be stopped.
“The gala is being held at his house in Braunhaven,” she says, which if I recall correctly is a small, exclusive hamlet about an hour’s drive north. “That much I gathered from my sisters.”
“And?” I press.
“And…” She spreads her hands and grins. “We’re going.”
“I do love a good gala,” says Warren, at the same time I say, “We’re not going to the bloody gala!”
Oliver strokes his chin. “Question. Are your sisters as hot as you are? Because that’s all the reason I need.”
Warren laughs, and so does Miss Bonnivarde, who claims she’s actually the ugly duckling of the three, and I very nearly flip the table just to distract everyone from this ridiculous line of inquiry.