Chapter 4
“Demons,” I spit out to the empty kitchen.
I slam the lid on the pot filled with simmering soup.
It won’t be ready for another half hour, but my stomach rumbles out its displeasure, anyway.
I put off eating too long. Again. One of these days I’ll remember my body can’t run off spite and caffeine.
Today’s a wash, but there’s always tomorrow.
Or next week. It’s always better to start new habits on a Monday.
“I swear if he shows up again…”
Except I promised myself I wouldn’t be thinking about Dimitri—no, the demon—yet here I am, still cursing his lingering presence in my mind.
If he would have just left when I first told him, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
I don’t know what bull honkey he was shoveling about not being able to leave.
I didn’t summon him. I had no control over where he went or what he did.
That thought should probably terrify me.
Regardless of whether or not it was my sister’s summoning circle that brought him here, I’ve stayed far away from it.
I thought about using magic to seal it like I did with the closet.
It’s the only link I have to finding her, though.
Unless I could find the book. Dimitri, the demon, mentioned other texts.
He was pretty much babbling by that point so I’m not entirely sure if I believe him.
Plus, he’s a demon. They can’t be trusted.
Still, he wasn’t what our mother described at all.
He wasn’t ten feet tall or wearing the bones of witches he’d devoured.
His horns weren’t huge and curling around his head.
Nor did he seem to have wings or a tail.
He didn’t even have blood red skin made of the hardest substance within hell.
When he fell on me, he was hard, but no more than a human.
And his flesh was grey, though I’m pretty sure I spotted a hint of purple.
“The same color as my hair,” I murmur, then shake my head.
No use making connections between us. We’re not connected. At all.
If anything, he’s linked to my sister. She’s the one with the faulty summoning circle. She’s the one who was dabbling in dark magic. She’s the one who took a little fight and went off the deep end in retaliation. Bitch.
As soon as I find her, we’re going to have some words, then I’m going to kick her ass.
She always goes to the extremes in every aspect of her life.
From when we were nine and she was convinced she could surf down a raging river to investing all her money in some random digital investment.
She never thinks things through and expects me to save her ass. Every. Fucking. Time.
It’s exhausting, but I’m not about to leave my little sister to the wolves. Or the demons, I suppose.
The lid rattles, bringing me back to the present, and I rip it off, then drop it on the counter. Thoughts of my mysterious demon filter through my head once more. I tap my finger against my chin as I stare at the steam curling off the soup.
He’d probably know how to find the book.
I don’t have to tell him the whole story.
He doesn’t even need to know which book I’m searching for.
Maybe he’s got some hellish library I could…
no, that would require me to go to Hell.
I’d do a lot for my sister, but dying just to find a book, then to come back as some type of specter and…
no. That wouldn’t work at all. Perhaps the demon could help, though.
Huffing, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
Pressure has been building in my head all day.
No amount of hot showers or cold compresses has helped.
I finally broke down an hour ago and took pain meds, but they haven’t touched the pounding within my skull.
It’s been like this every day since I unsealed the closet.
I unleashed the magic, and it’s burrowed its way into my body, sucking the very life from me. Hence the soup.
I added as many herbs as I could think of to calm the magic inside me. The scent of creamy potatoes and fresh basil wafts through the air, and I inhale deeply. One of these remedies has to work or I’m going to lose it. I can’t handle the constant ache much longer.
“This is all that demon’s fault,” I mutter. “Excuse me, Dimitri.”
I spit out his name like the curse that it is. Should I be tempting karma by being an asshole about him? Probably not. I figure she can’t wreak much more on me, anyway. She’s been fucking with me for a lifetime, no matter how good of a witch I was. She’s just got it out for me.
Slowly, I ease myself to the floor and prop my elbows on my knees with my head in my hands. A groan leaves me as my heart beats in my ears.
“Problems, spitfire?” His deep voice rolls over me.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. I’m not even surprised he’s here. Three days isn’t nearly enough time for things to go back to normal.
“Are you on your period?” he asks gently.
I drop my hands, ready to yell at him, or burst into tears, I don’t know which.
Except his gaunt face stops me. His dull black eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.
Yet there’s a compassion in their depths I’ve rarely seen before in others.
I didn’t really think about demons being able to feel things like sympathy.
Especially while they’re suffering like Dimitri clearly is.
“What happened to you?” I ask, though the words come out soft and slightly pathetic—not concerned. Definitely not.
He gives me a half-hearted smile as he crouches in front of me. “Nothing a nap won’t fix. You?”
I could lie. Or say the banishing words to get him to go away again. Hell, ignoring him would probably do the trick. He reminds me of a puppy, eager to please and hyperactive until you rebuff them. Then they hide with their tails between their legs. For some reason, I can’t do it.
“Headache,” I murmur, then wince as the edges of his body blur. I don’t know if it’s my vision or some demon-y thing. Demonic? Demon-y? Is that even a word? I dig my knuckles into my temples and wait for the pulsing to subside.
“Seems more like a migraine. It’s sucked all the fire right out of you, huh?
” He pushes to his feet and peers into the pot.
His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, then hums as he exhales.
“I’m not one to invite myself to dinner, but I have a feeling you’ll break something if you’re left to your own devices. ”
I roll my eyes, then squeeze them shut. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
When I peek at him, he’s swirling the ladle around. “I’m sure you are, spitfire.”
“Why the hell are you calling me that? I have a fucking name, you know.”
“Except you haven’t told me your name. And while I could call you witch, like you call me demon, it’s a bit demeaning to strip you down to the magic inside you.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I mumble something even I can’t understand.
It’s halfway between an excuse and an apology.
He lifts his hand while still leaning over the pot.
I swear if he gets any closer, he’ll stick his nose right in and snort the soup.
If he ruins it, I just might cry. I can’t take one more setback.
He snaps his fingers, and I grimace. Such a small sound shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
A bowl appears in his hand, and he hums a happy tune as he dishes himself some herby goodness.
I drop my chin to my chest, bracing myself to push to my feet.
I should tell him to get the fuck out. Except I already dismissed that idea.
At least I think I did. My head hurts too much to remember.
“Up you get,” he murmurs, and his hands slide under my arms. I don’t even have it in me to care.
“I can—”
“I know you can. Doesn’t mean you will. You can banish me after some soup. Because if you do it before I get to taste it, I just might cry.”
He tries to guide me toward the small breakfast nook, but my feet won’t work.
Maybe I am cursed. I know magic demands a cost. It was hammered into us by our aunt since we were young.
Except I’m not supposed to be the one suffering.
Maybe that’s why Dimitri looks so gaunt.
I don’t know if demons take on the magical burden when shit goes sideways.
I’d ask him, but I’m afraid I’ll puke all over the floor, and I doubt he’d clean it up.
He scoops me up, and a strangled cry leaves me.
He shushes me like I’m a child throwing a tantrum.
By the time I open my mouth to cuss him out, he’s already settled me in the chair and whisked away.
A bowl appears in front of me, and the sweet scent wafts through the air.
I inhale, letting the familiar smell comfort me.
“Well shit,” he breathes, and I glance up. Dimitri’s wasted no time digging into the soup, and he’s too preoccupied to notice my attention.
I drop my gaze to my own bowl and gather my spoon.
Only his occasional muttered exclamations and the utensils hitting the ceramic punctuate the silence that settles between us.
I probably should be more freaked out. Or worried he’s about to eat me.
Instead, there’s a sense of calm I haven’t felt since I discovered my sister missing.
I’ll chalk it up to the food and the migraine.
“I didn’t realize you could eat human food,” I murmur, and his spoon clatters into the empty bowl.
“Now why would you ruin a perfectly good meal with that question?” He scowls at me, then shakes his head.
“For once, I wasn’t trying to be offensive,” I snap, though my ire is muted.
He rolls his eyes, then stomps his way to the pot to refill his bowl. “Weren’t you taught about demons? Thought witches had training and books and all that.”
He drops into the chair once more and immediately inhales the food. I almost point him in the direction of a measuring cup but stop myself.
“We’re not friends,” I mumble. “We don’t need to have a heart-to-heart. Just eat your soup and then you can leave.”
He tilts his head back and forth. “Or…”
“No, no or. We’re just going to eat in silence, then go our separate ways. You should be grateful I’m feeding you in the first place. Actually, you should be grateful my body hates me and I can’t fight back.”
“Wasn’t fighting you, spitfire. I’m not exactly in a position to do anything other than eat and pass the fuck out.” He taps the spoon against the rim, then stops when I glare at him. “What do you know about curses?”
“Uh, they’re shitty?”
“Obviously. Do you know how to break them?”
I shrug, then wince at the tightness in my shoulders. “Depends on the curse. Just like the price of dark magic.”
“You realize it’s not really dark, right? It’s about balance—”
I hold up my spoon. “Do not lecture me.”
“Except you—”
“Well aware. But do you honestly expect us to go around explaining balance and neutrality every time we talk about the other side of magic? What a ludicrous notion. I swear, every time some yahoo comes along, they think they know better than us. Even when I’m faking it, making up all the rules, they still want to argue. ”
He sits back and crosses his arms. I resist the urge to do the same.
Instead, I tuck my knee closer to my chest and huddle over my bowl.
I forgot—forgot that he’s a demon, that he could crush my skull with one hand, that he could smite me.
Wait, I think that’s the other guy. Whatever, a demon could probably do it.
He was right when he questioned how much I knew about them.
My aunt always said the words were best left unspoken.
Lark and I always thought she meant it literally. Maybe she was wrong.
“Seems to me you could use some education on demons.” He holds up his hand when I start to object. “And I could use some help with curses. Wouldn’t it be better to work together instead of bickering? From the looks of it, you could definitely use some help. I’m sure I don’t look much better.”
“Well, that was insulting,” I mutter, glancing away.
He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “We could help each other.”
“No,” I snap as I push to my feet and gather my dishes. I’m halfway to the sink when he sighs heavily.
“Why not?”
I drop the bowl onto the counter and spin around, planting my hands on my hips. “You hid in my closet for weeks—”
“Wasn’t hiding,” he mutters.
“You crashed into me when I finally opened it.”
“Didn’t really have a choice.”
I plow onward, trying to ignore his interruptions. “Then you acted like my house was the new vacation spot.”
“I’d probably pick the beach for vacation. Or the moun—”
“And then you showed up tonight without warning.”
“Not my fault.”
“Would you stop?” I cry, and the fight drains out of me. “I don’t know who you are. Or why you were in my closet. Logically, I should be terrified. I should electrocute you or something. I should be cowering under the covers waiting for the thing that goes bump in the night to eat me.”
His lip twitches, and I swear if he makes some dirty joke I’m going to hex him—see how his pretty face looks covered with oozing boils. He’d probably pull it off somehow. Pretty bastard. Maybe that’s what I’ll call him since he insists on giving me a nickname.
“You know, if we helped each other, we get to know each other. And then we wouldn’t be strangers anymore.”
I narrow my gaze at the note of desperation in his voice. Questions roll through my mind. What’s his motive? Why is he so insistent? How does he keep getting in here? The longer I stare at him, the more pile up, yet I shove them all away. I don’t need answers. I need a shower and a nap and a break.
“I’d rather be strangers. You can begone or whatever,” I say, waving my hand as I stumble from the kitchen.
I don’t really care if he’s here when I come back or not. I just can’t be bothered. As I get in the shower, though, I realize how nice it was to eat with someone else. Getting used to it would be disastrous. I vow not to think about him ever again.