Chapter 25
twenty-five
LIZZY
In light of recent developments, it’s time for a quick inventory.
One, the demons—including the one I’m at least halfway in love with—are trapped in agony.
Two, my sisters and I are being held hostage by madmen in mail-order bathrobes and an arachnid-loving chaos demon who, up until recently, was happily wearing Nathan Killroy like a pair of PJs.
Three, and perhaps most importantly… no one is coming to save us.
I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. Reach out to my sisters with my energy, just like Merrick and I have been practicing. I feel their fear, their horror. I try to send them some calming energy. Try to reassure them that we will survive this night.
But let’s face it. The odds are looking pretty fucking bleak.
I open my eyes again to see one of the minions wheeling out an ornately carved pedestal, which he centralizes in front of me. On it rests what appears to be a hastily bejeweled hunting knife. Beside it, the grimoire. It pulses with power, its whispers slipping into my mind.
Blood of our blood of our blood…
Brendan makes a dramatic show of lifting the makeshift athame with two hands, like he’s motherfucking King Arthur pulling Excalibur out of the stone and not just some wannabe badass with a bedazzled hunting knife. If our situation wasn’t so dire, I’d be snapping a few pictures to turn into memes.
“Oh great and powerful Lords of Darkness,” he calls out, blade held aloft, “bless this blade and guide us in our most holy mission to rid the realms of witches and purify your chosen vessels to receive the magic of the underworld and beyond.”
He pauses dramatically. A couple of people start to clap, but no one seems sure about it, so the applause fizzles out quickly.
Oh, for the love of Kool-Aid. Remind me again, because I seem to have missed it…
How the fuck did this little cum stain get elected to lead an all-powerful cult of witch hunters wheeling and dealing with the highest orders of Hell?
Seriously! Had I known the bar was so low, maybe I would’ve applied for the job.
With no further magic words for the nebulous lords of darkness, Brendan gets to work.
He starts with Rachel, cutting her binds and slicing a deep gash in her palm. She yelps behind her gag, hand trembling.
Kate’s next, a small gasp of pain her only response.
When he cuts my ropes, I grit my teeth and grind out softly, just for him, “I hope this makes you feel like a real man, Brendan.”
“You have no idea.” He smirks and slices my palm, hard and fast.
“That’s right. Hurt a woman, big man. Make me bleed. Because limpdick?” I give him an icy smile. “That’s the last time you’ll get the opportunity.”
His smirk falters, and something dark flashes through his eyes.
Terror.
He quickly looks away. Then, still not meeting my eyes, he goes, “When this is over, you’ll be dead, witch.” He touches the tip of the athame to the grimoire’s silver medallion. “Activate the fucking book.”
With no other options, my sisters and I tighten our hands into fists and squeeze, blood mingling as it drips onto the medallion. Seconds later, the book begins to glow, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Blood of our blood of our blood…
My own magic stirs in response, the tingling, tugging sensation spreading from my chest outward, flooding my limbs with power.
“Find the spell,” Brendan commands.
I reach for the front cover. Before I’ve even made contact, the book flips itself open, spells coming to life on the page, as if they’re being written by some invisible hand.
The words are in English, but they don’t make any sense. I don’t know if it’s because it’s written in code, or I’m too riled up to concentrate on reading, or if after all this I’m just destined to suck at witchcraft.
The words swim before my eyes. I don’t know what I was expecting.
A table of contents? Spells with perfectly obvious names, like, “How to make someone fall in love with you” or “Quick spell for getting the job of your dreams” or “How to transfer all of your ancestral magic to a cult of hunters making a party game out of your murder?”
Can I fake it? Buy us time to figure out an escape plan? Pretend I’m getting some great download from beyond the veil that requires all these sycophants to leave the room and Brendan to hand over the blade?
Fuck.
Yes, I’m a witch. A Bonnivarde one at that. But when push comes to shove, I don’t know any actual spells. The only magic I’ve successfully performed has been with Merrick, either sensing energies or summoning imps from—
Wait. That’s it. The imps!
“What am I looking for, exactly?” I hedge, my mind racing with new possibilities.
“The Spell of Transference,” Brendan says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh! Right. Duh.” I grace him with a plastic smile, then dive back into the book, flipping pages, finally settling on a random one-pager.
“Here it is!” I run my finger over the words, making it up as I go.
“‘Spell to transfer a witch’s power to a pure vessel.’ As long as you qualify, this should work. ”
This seems to satisfy him. “I am more than qualified.”
“Okay, just give me a second.”
The whole room is on pins and needles. My sisters are murmuring behind their gags, probably wondering what the fuck I’m doing, which is a fair question, but… onward!
Merrick once told me the portal isn’t a set location, but the entire energetic barrier between realms. In theory, I should be able to summon demons anywhere, including here.
It’s risky business considering I don’t have my own Devil’s trap set up, but…
that’s a problem for future Lizzy. The one who’s hopefully not dead at the end of this.
God, I hope this works…
I close my eyes. Take a deep, centering breath. Think back to our practice sessions, to all those times I stood at the edge of the portal, casting for the demons ready to step forth and serve.
Merrick’s voice echoes, the memory coming to life in shimmering clarity.
…for a talented witch with clear intentions, imp energy can absolutely be channeled into more dangerous spells.
“That’s enough breathing, witch,” says Limpdick. “Cast the fucking spell.”
If I had time, I’d hit the pause button on the magic show just so I could double-nut-punch him, but instead, I offer a nod, smoothing my face into a look of defeat. Of complacency.
The crowd falls silent. I focus on the sounds of my sisters’ frantic breaths, the tick of a heating system somewhere in the house. The remembered touch of Merrick’s hand on my shoulder, the glimmer in his honey-brown eyes.
“Say the words,” Brendan grinds out.
“The ritual has no words. Only intent. An intent you keep interrupting.” I open my eyes and glare at him. “One wrong thought, and a Transference Spell becomes a giant, dick-eating tarantula spell.”
The cum stain turns the color of—well—a cum stain, and finally backs off.
I refocus my energy. Pour all of my intent into my desire.
A gasp in the crowd. A whisper turning into a murmur.
I search their faces, find the light in the dim. Three imps have already materialized among them, formless and bright. Eager. Nothing but pure potential, waiting for my orders.
It’s working!
I call forth another. A dozen, two dozen, innumerable formless orbs flashing to life among the hunters. I don’t bother binding them—there’s no time. Besides, I have no intention of leashing these demons. No intention of sending them back to Hell.
They have a job to do.
As if she can read my thoughts, Calista appears beside me, her tattered dress in flames. She reaches out and touches my shoulder, and I cover her ghost-hand with mine, making a silent vow.
Then, calling upon all the pain, the torment, the fear that the Wielders of the Righteous Flame have inflicted upon my bloodline and countless others, I bolt to my feet.
“This is for Calista Bonnivarde!” I shout. “Burn in Hell!”
Finally, I release the dam of my emotions, channeling my dark intent into a single purpose.
One by one, my wild, unbound imps ignite.
There’s a scream from the back of the room, then another. Their fear begins to spread, slowly at first, couched in confusion.
But fire devours even more quickly than Ozikai’s spiders, and soon the room is a symphony of pain.
The heavy velvet drapes catch, flames chasing each other from the floor to the ceiling, then spreading. The artwork on the walls, the carpeting, the robes. Chandeliers explode in a rain of glass.
“What did you do?” Brendan shouts, blade held in a trembling hand.
Taking advantage of his bewilderment, I lunge for him.
Snatch away the weapon just as an imp explodes into fire behind him.
Brenden dives off the stage and I dart to my sisters, quickly slicing through the rest of their ropes and gags.
“Go!” I shout. “Run!”
“We’re not leaving you!” Rachel cries.
Another chandelier explodes. The fire surges around us. Smoke fills the room. From the corner of my eye, I catch a blur of white and flame—
“Get down!” I shout, and the three of us hit the stage floor just as Ozikai surges past, barreling through my fire imps as if they’re nothing but a nuisance.
As if they’re fuel.
Shit. Shit! He’s not quashing them, he’s absorbing them, growing larger with every impact, his eyes bright, his spiders in a frenzy, tearing at his flesh and burrowing inside, seeking escape.
“Get out of here!” I shout again.
Rachel shakes her head. “Lizzy—”
“There’s no time—I’m right behind you!”
Massive and terrifying, Ozikai stalks toward us, his spiders multiplying. But before he directs the attack, a dark blur swoops down on him from above.
A bat.
Helena mauls him like a literal bat out of Hell, sucking up his spiders like a fucking Hoover, gouging the demon’s eyes, tearing at his papery flesh. It’s unlikely to kill him, but it’s all the distraction I need.
Still gripping the athame, I crawl to the frozen demons.
Kate tears at my arm. “Lizzy, no! What are you doing?”
“It’s okay. They’re with us.”
Rachel shakes her head, but I cut her off before she can start in on me.
“Please trust me! Just this one fucking time, I need you guys to trust me!”
They hesitate, but only for a second. Then, with new determination in her eyes, Rachel grabs one of the chairs and slams it to the ground, busting it apart. She tosses a jagged leg to Kate, and the two of them join me on their knees, frantically scraping at the painted symbols.
Somewhere behind me, a gunshot rings out. The crowd surges toward the doorway, their screams drowning out the hiss and pop of the flames. The gun fires again, but there’s no time to see who they’re targeting. No time to even draw a breath.
We break through Oliver’s circle first. He barrels out of the trance and drops to the ground, smashing his fists through the remaining Devil’s traps to release Warren and Merrick.
All of them are wobbly from the ordeal, still bleeding and battered, but we’re instantly united in our new mission: get the fuck out of the inferno.
“This way!” Merrick grabs my arm, dragging me backward across the stage to the window behind it.
It’s a massive pane of glass, no levers or sliders to open.
I’m about to grab the broken chair when Oliver takes a running leap, smashing right through it.
Merrick knocks out a few of the larger shards, then tosses me out into the night.
He grabs Kate next, Warren scoops up Rachel, and out they go.
Helena swoops out last, shifting into her human form the moment she hits the grass. Her face is smudged, one of her lenses broken, but she’s otherwise no worse for the wear.
“Get to the road!” she shouts.
A few of the hunters mill around in the grass, dazed and confused, too shocked to pay us any mind. Warren and Oliver grab my sisters, dragging them after Helena, but I can’t leave. Not yet.
“The grimoire!” I turn back to the mansion as the rest of the window collapses. Smoke pours out into the night, the imps inside flashing, fire surging. The screams of the hunters echo over the sound of my raging heart.
I take one more desperate glance, sending out a new intention that the grimoire somehow survives. That we’ll have a chance to come back for it. But a beam crashes down inside, and the fire explodes anew, so bright it burns my eyes.
In that moment, I know we’ve lost it for good.
“Let it go,” Merrick says gently, his hand strong and steady in mine. “Please, Elizabeth. Let it go.”
It’s the sound of my name on his lips that does it. The tenderness there. The ache. It snaps me out of my trance, and I squeeze his hand and offer him the very last smile I’ve got before we take off into the darkness.