Chapter 31
thirty-one
LIZZY
Rage ignites inside me, so hot I want to scream, to stand up and fight, to grab Brendan and that broken bottle and shove it right where the Amber Hellfire don’t shine.
But I’m too busy laughing my half-dead little ass off. Because suddenly, all I can think about is that stupid magnet.
Love is the real magic.
And just like that, everything makes perfect sense.
Life is crazy sometimes, isn’t it? We spend so much time searching for meaning where there’s none, and in that frantic distraction, we miss the obvious signs that were actually meant for us.
Love is the real magic.
It isn’t the grimoire. It was never the grimoire. Not really.
It was what the grimoire represents.
Blood of our blood of our blood.
We are always with you.
Calista, and her love for her baby girl, Davina. Davina’s love for the daughter that came next, and all the ones that followed, right up to my mother, Evelyn. I think of these women, my ancestors, my strength, my inspiration.
And I think of us. My sisters and me. Our bond. A love that’s been battered and frayed, tested to its absolute limits, but never destroyed. A love that we’ve only just begun to find our way back to.
I’m not about to lose them now.
We three are the last of the Bonnivarde witches, for fuck’s sake. That has to mean something. More than a book of spells. More than a demon portal and the power Brendan and his Wielders of the Righteous Fucksticks want to steal.
I reach for Rachel’s hand, stretch until our fingers brush. She meets me halfway, pushing closer until our hands finally lock. Together, coughing and wheezing, we reach out for Kate. Find her, grab hold, refuse to let go.
Inside me, the magic flickers back to life.
Somewhere in that blackening book might be a spell that could save us, but it’s beyond my reach. Right now, truly, all I have is love. The love of my sisters, the love of the witches who came before us. So I say the only words I can think of—the ones shouting through my mind, over and over.
Blood of our blood of our blood.
We are always with you.
It’s more a prayer than a spell, but it comforts me to say it, to mouth the words, to give them the very last of my breath. I say it again. Again. A whisper at first, growing louder, stronger. Soon Rachel joins in, and then Kate, our voices weaving together in a dark symphony.
Blood of our blood of our blood.
We are always with you.
Blood of our blood of our blood.
We are always with you.
The flames surge. Brendan holds up his hands, stumbling backward. “What… what the fuck?”
Our prayer turns defiant, a call to arms, the words clearing the haze from my vision and the smoke from my lungs. The flames dart and weave, dancing before my eyes.
It’s Calista I see first, flickering into my field of vision in her smoldering dress.
Another woman appears beside her, taking her hand.
Davina, I sense. A third woman, then another.
Dozens upon dozens. My grandmother, my great-grandmother, great aunts and cousins, sisters, all of the Bonnivarde Witches, joining hands and forming a circle around us.
Then, at long last, Evelyn. My complicated, enigmatic mother. She glances at us in turn, then moves past us, through the circle of witches, to stand outside of it.
But this time, it’s not because she’s leaving us. It’s because she’s choosing us. Protecting us. Her children. The daughters she gave up in life, thinking she could keep us safe. And now, as close to death as we’ve ever been, she’s come to try again.
I watch the ghost of my mother raise her hands to the deadly fire surrounding us.
And I watch, in utter awe, as the flames turn silver, surging as bright as the full moon. The choking heat recedes. The world stops spinning. The flames that seconds ago were nearly all-consuming suddenly draw themselves back, away from the cemetery. Away from us.
In search of new targets.
One of the goons screams, dropping into a panicked roll that does nothing to quell the flames. They devour him. Incinerate him. It takes a long time. He does not go quietly.
My sisters and I get to our feet. The witches still surround us, their protective circle unbroken. I can tell from the twin looks of awe on my sisters’ faces that they can see them too. Our ancestors. Our mother. Our magic.
The fire is starving. Hunters drop like the flaming shitbags they are, one after the other, screaming for their mothers.
I watch in abject fascination until the silver flames collide, surging brighter than ever, seeking their final target.
“No. No!” Brendan screeches, batting uselessly at the flames crawling up his legs. “Lizzy, call them off! Tell them! I’m pure! I’m the chosen vessel! I’m—”
“A good fucking guy?” I laugh.
Brendan, predictably, does not, probably because his balls are on fire and he’s screaming like—well, I’d say a little girl, but little girls are fucking badasses, and don’t deserve the comparison.
The flames continue their ascent, slowly inching up his torso, his face.
I watch as the other half melts. I watch as his remaining eye explodes.
I watch until there’s nothing left of him but a glowing skeleton, the flames spinning around him like a fiery tornado, chewing through every last bit of bone until Brendan Hayes, my horrible ex, leader of the Wielders of the Righteous Flame, is no more than a stain upon the earth.
The fire finally fades away. One by one, the witches disappear, my mother lingering just a moment, offering us the faintest flicker of a smile.
And then she’s gone, too.
My sisters and I collapse into a group hug, sobbing together, laughing, the leftover adrenaline zipping through our limbs, leaving us boneless.
I don’t know how long I’m out for, but the next thing I know, a demon is looming over me.
I blink up at him. Wait for my brain to arrange the strange shapes and colors into something recognizable.
“Merrick?” I croak out, my lips curving into a smile.
“Thank the fucking devil.” He drops to his knees and sweeps me into his arms, gathering me close. “I thought I’d lost you. Are you injured? How bad is it? Tell me what hurts.”
“Where are my sisters?”
“They’re fine. A little banged up, but Oliver and Warren have them.”
“Helena?”
“Injured a wing during the fire, but she’s fine. Patched herself up. She’s waiting for us back at the house.”
Relief washes through me. “Merrick, I… I need to say…something.”
“Save your strength, love. I’m taking you home.”
“No, I… please,” I pant. “It’s… important. I need… something.”
“Anything. Just tell me.”
“In my shirt pocket, there’s…” I cough. Gasp. Try again. “It’s important. Please…”
“Hold on, Elizabeth. I’ve got it. Okay.” Keeping one arm around me, he plumbs the depths of my pajama pocket. Finds the treasure inside. Brings it close to his face, inspecting it carefully.
Scowls. Intensely.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, woman!”
I crack up. It hurts to laugh, sends me into a coughing fit, but dude… you should see his face. Totally worth it.
“Come on, Professor,” I tease, finally catching my breath. “You’re not even the slightest bit amused?”
“This is not amusing. Ergo, I am not amused. In fact, if you looked up ‘amused’ in the dictionary—the unabridged edition—I am whatever the word furthest from that one is.”
I make pouty lips. Which is not that easy to achieve while laughing, especially when everything hurts.
He grunts and sticks the joint in my mouth. Hunts down a still-smoldering branch, blows on it until it flames. I lean into it and take a deep drag, sucking the roll-up to beautiful life.
Bliss.
“Happy now?” he grumbles.
I nod and grin, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. “Are you? You sure don’t look it.”
“Hmm. Almost.” Merrick finally smiles. His shadows envelop us in a dark cocoon, shielding us from the outside world. And then my demon hero kisses me, so deeply and perfectly that I forget all about my weed, and for the first time since this nightmare began, up comes the freaking sun.