What Not to do When Summoning a Demon (Witchy Demon #1)

Chapter 1

Inever thought a jar of spaghetti sauce would be my downfall.

Yet here I am in a standoff with a lid choosing not to budge. At this point, it has to be intentional. If it wanted to open, it would.

The mason jar sits on the counter, mocking me.

The old lady on the front is laughing at my struggle.

Granted, she's always laughing since she's literally a label, but it feels personal.

Especially since I have no idea who she is.

My mother slapped her on the jars without ever explaining who the old woman was to our family.

I should have asked when Mom made the stickers for her canned goods.

I doubt context would make me feel better in this situation.

“Bitch,” I mutter under my breath.

I've tried all the human ways to loosen it—the handle of a knife, hot water, a rubber gripper.

I even borrowed a special can opener that's made for this purpose from a neighbor.

It broke and now I need to buy a new one.

I'm not exactly friends with said neighbor, and I'd hate for their impression of me to be borrowing shit I immediately break and never replace.

After all other tactics didn't work, I turned to the witchy ways.

Not that I have a specific spell or potion to make this happen.

Most of them revolve around intangible things.

Opening a jar isn't exactly on the top of the list of spells to learn.

In fact, I don't even know if it's possible.

I could have gone out and bought some sauce and avoided all this, but it wouldn't have been the same.

This particular jar is one of the remaining few from my mother's stores.

I press my lips together as my eyes alight on a book—the book.

The one I shoved on the shelf above the counter next to my recipes as if it’ll blend in and I’ll forget about it.

It’s been handed down through the generations, from mother to daughter.

I've read it many times, but I've never used any of the spells.

Lessons on responsibility were drilled into me from a young age.

Being a witch wasn't something to take lightly. And the book was something beyond that. Until we had no other choice, we were to keep the spells unspoken. Until the need was dire, we were to leave it alone.

“This is a pretty dire situation,” I whisper. Spaghetti might not seem that important to others. To me, my entire week hinges on whether I can open my jar.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I rush to the bookshelf and tug the book from the shelf.

My palm brushes over the embossed cover.

The dark leather seems to suck the light into it—a perpetual black hole.

My mother's warning brushes against the corners of my mind.

Use with care, my dear. Everything with care.

Except this—use these spells with caution.

I close my eyes and drop the book on its spine. Usually, I wouldn't treat a book with such disdain, but this is the only way it'll work. Pages flutter through the air and I hold my breath. I glance down when they fall silent and scan the page.

“Demon summoning?”

My bottom lip ends up between my teeth. I suppose a demon would be strong enough to open a jar.

I wouldn't have to ask them to do anything nefarious.

Surely, there's an easier way to do this.

A spell or potion, though I'd rather not melt the damn thing.

I hem and haw as I bumble around the kitchen, making tea. My eyes keep darting to the book.

As I sip my drink from my favorite mug, I contemplate the consequences. Magic always has a price. Sometimes, it's small—a few minutes of sleep or a twinge in the shoulder. Other times…

Other times it's a massive payment—death.

Never your own life, though. No, because of course it's not. Such is the way when dealing with magic. I used to think it was unfair. Now that I'm older, I understand the need to maintain the balance in the world.

Sighing, I set my mug down and slam the book shut.

When I turn, I come face to face with the jar.

Pages flutter behind me again and I spin.

The book is open to the demon summoning once more.

I scowl, curling my hands into fists before I march over and slam it shut again, then shove it back into its place on the shelf.

I'm halfway to my mug when I jump about a foot in the air at the thundering noise behind me.

I already know it's fallen from its place and is taunting me.

“Fine,” I snarl and grab the heavy tome.

I carry it into my spare room. It's supposed to be a guest room, but I turned it into my space for spell work. No use having a spare bed when I have no one visiting. Cauldrons, plants, and ingredients take over every available space. In the middle of the floor is an open area, and I set about drawing the summoning circle on the floor. It takes me longer than I want. I can’t remember the last time I chalked anything on wood.

I was never very adept at it. The moon shines through the window by the time I'm done.

Sitting back, I admire my handiwork. It's not perfect, but it'll do. Which is probably the worst attitude to have when summoning a damn demon. It'll hold them, though, and that's all that matters.

I pull the book toward me and finish setting out the various candles and ingredients I'll need not only to get them here but also to send them back. The last thing I need is a demon hanging around randomly.

When I'm done reading the instructions for the third time, I realize I'm stalling.

I could walk right out of this room and finish my tea and go to bed.

Except I'll be plagued with dreams and insomnia.

They'll take turns harassing me throughout the night.

And I really want spaghetti. I rush to the kitchen and grab the jar, then hurry back in.

Snapping my fingers, I light the red candles around the circle. I pull in a deep breath before reciting the incantation. I expected them to be in Latin, but it's literally just speaking with intention.

“From the depths of Hell, I summon thee,” I say, my tone turning flippant toward the end, then press my lips together.

Nothing happens. The longer I wait, the more anxious I get.

I've heard stories of other witches doing it wrong and the demon ends up in someone else's closet.

Those tales never end well, but I thought they were fables to keep us from using the book.

Now I'm wondering if I just set a demon loose on my quaint little town.

“Shit,” I mutter as I heft the book in my arms and scan the page.

I did everything right as far as I can tell.

I drop the book, no longer caring whether or not it's actually damaged.

Maybe none of the spells work and this was merely a ploy from my mother.

She was so serious when she talked about it.

Doesn't mean she didn't have a wicked sense of humor.

She's probably laughing at me from the grave.

Huffing, I grab the jar and make my way out of the room.

As soon as I step into the hallway, the world goes dark and I freeze.

What feels like an eternity later, the world rights itself and shadows wind their way around my legs.

Slowly, I turn, all while trying to keep my breathing even as my heart attempts to burrow its way out of my chest.

“You summoned me…mortal?” The deep voice resonates in my body, making goosebumps explode across my skin.

When the smoke clears, I realize I may have fucked up.

I've never seen a demon before. Sure, in pictures and shows, but nothing could have prepared me for what they're really like.

The tinge of red in his skin makes sense, yet the black swirls embedded in his flesh are not what I expected.

He towers over me, though I'm average height, which also makes sense.

Actually, he's more human than I expected, despite the black horns and silver hair.

Asking about the three-piece suit would be a very bad idea.

“Not a mortal,” he says with a tilt of his head. “Interesting.”

“Uh, hi. I'm Clara.” I fold my arms over the sauce. “And you are?”

“You want my name, witch? Is that your request?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, no. Can you…this may seem silly. Sorry.” I step closer, holding out the jar. “Can you open this for me?”

I don't know if it's normal, but he looks baffled.

Can demons be flabbergasted? I paste a tentative smile on my face and inch just a bit closer.

I don't want to enter the circle with him.

That would be disastrous. At least, I think it would be.

If my arm merely passes the line, it should be fine.

I hope it's fine because otherwise I won't be able to give him the jar to actually open.

“You want me to open the jar? You summoned me for that?”

I nod as he narrows his red eyes at me. When he blinks, they fade into a dull black. I really should have done more research on demons before I decided to summon one. This would have been a lot easier. Maybe I wouldn't be so scared. Or it might have freaked me out more.

“If you could, I would really appreciate it.”

He tentatively reaches out and grasps the lid and I let go of the bottom. His large hands dwarf the jar and I wince. I open my mouth to plead with him not to break it, but I snap it shut when I remember who's standing in front of me.

His dark eyes meet mine and my stomach flips.

I wrap my arms around my waist and sway while he studies me.

It's like he thinks I'm tricking him. Honestly, if I was in his position, I'd think it was a prank too.

Like, hey, open this jar and bam, a deadly plague is released into the world.

He's a demon, though, so maybe that's what he's hoping for.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the lid pops, and an excited giggle erupts from me. Hesitantly, he hands the jar back to me and I grin.

“Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

He nods, wariness in his eyes. “You know you only get one request per summons, right?”

“Yup.” I cradle the glass against my chest and glance up. “That's all I needed.”

He crosses his arms and wings unfurl from his back, spreading to the edges of the circle. A soft oh falls from my lips and I force a smile to my face again.

“You have to say the words to release me,” he huffs.

“Oh, that's right.” I crouch and gingerly set the jar at my feet before scanning the text. “Um, I'm a little rusty on my Latin, but am I really saying 'begone demon' like I'm banishing you?”

“Yes. Or ‘leave the demon’ which has created more conflicts than necessary over the centuries. Just say it so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Okay, then. Discede daemonium.” I glance up and catch him rolling his eyes. It's such a human reaction I'm a little caught off guard.

As smoke swirls around his feet, his nostrils flare. “Your Latin needs work, as does your chalk work.”

He disappears in a puff of smoke, the smell of sulfur and cinnamon lingering in the space. I grab my jar and turn to leave. What an absolute ass. My Latin is perfectly fine. I might concede on the chalk work, though.

“Well, fuck you too,” I mutter. “And you used work twice in a sentence, asshole.”

One of the shadows snaps out and whips me right in the ass.

I yelp and glance over my shoulder. Two glowing red eyes stare at me from the dark cloud in the circle and I scowl.

They wink out of existence along with the rest of the haze, though the warm scent of cinnamon remains.

Apparently he didn't like my parting comment much.

To be fair, I probably wouldn't like it either, but he brought it upon himself.

At least now my jar is open and I won't be needing the book anymore. No more demon summoning in the middle of the night.