Chapter 10
Ishouldn’t have touched him.
Now I’m caught in his gaze and my skin is fused to his. I couldn’t walk away if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I knew I should have slept on the couch or banished him back to Hell. Now I’m in the middle of this and I don’t know how to stop.
Percy wasn’t any help with the curse, and I don’t want to take advantage of Dimitri’s vulnerable state. Then again, he doesn’t look sick anymore. If anything, he looks like he wants to jump my bones. I’m inclined to let him, though I have no idea why.
Just days ago, I thought demons were fairy tales—based on true beings but largely exaggerated. Yet here I am touching him and wondering if his lips are really as pillowy soft as they look.
His nostrils flare and I wonder if he can smell my arousal. That would be embarrassing unless we were together. Then it’d be hot, I suppose.
I lick my lips, then ask, “Are you…”
“Yeah.”
I don’t think he knows what I’m asking. He probably doesn’t care.
Part of me wants to tell him I figured out what I want in exchange for breaking his curse.
The other part is screaming at me to remember he’s a demon.
Why that matters, I can’t quite figure out.
Because my aunt said so? Because witches and demons have a fraught history I know nothing about?
I wish my sister were here. She’d know what to do. Whether she’d tell me to go for it or run far away, I don’t know. Which is the problem.
He clears his throat, a bolt of lightning flashing in his dark eyes. “Did your…friend have anything?”
I slowly shake my head, then drop my hand to my side. My skin cools and my fingers tingle at the loss of contact. It takes a minute, but his question finally sinks in fully. The thread between us frays, and I narrow my gaze.
“Why did you hesitate?”
His eyes widen. “What?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Why did you hesitate when you called her my friend?”
He snorts and chokes at the same time, and I fully expect him to cough up a hairball.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mari.
I just wanted to know how to break this curse.
If I can figure out what kind it is, I’ll probably be able to find out who put it on me and deal with them accordingly. ”
“Kill them?”
Shock floods his face. “What? No. I mean, maybe. Depends on why they cursed me. Or how bad it’s supposed to get. If this is all it is, then I suppose…don’t give me that look. Not everyone is sunshine and rainbows, spitfire. There are bad demons in Hell just like humans in your world.”
“But killing them—” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. It’s not something I ever thought about, but I’ve never been in a situation where I’d have to make that decision.
He holds up a hand. “Killing them in Hell isn’t the same as here. You know that, right?”
“Uh, no. Killing is killing.”
He smiles, his entire demeanor transforming. Gone is the broody demon, replaced with the charming one who doesn’t look like he’d hurt a fly. Which is laughable, considering we’re talking about him doling out irreversible justice.
“If I stab someone here and they die, they’ll go to Hell. Or one of the other dimensions aligning with their soul. They’ll suffer or celebrate in accordance with their fate. For eternity.”
“Aligning with their soul?” The concept sounds painful.
He waves, his hand brushing my arm and sending goosebumps along my flesh.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “We don’t have time to get into all of that.
It’s…complicated, and I’m not well-versed in that particular study.
Different things happen if I killed someone in Hell.
A demon could be sent to a sulfur pit or the dragon plains.
Depends on what they did, honestly. A deity or some other entity might be banished to another dimension.
Humans are a bit tricky. Half the time they don’t feel anything.
Like poking a tomato, really. If they fucked up, then they could get a worse assignment or dimension.
Now, if I stabbed them for ridiculous reasons or was wrong, then I’d suffer their fate instead. ”
“And a witch?”
“I’m not about to stab a witch, Mari. I don’t have a death wish.” He smirks, shooting me a roguish look.
“Because of the implications?”
“Yup. But mostly because if you stab a witch in Hell, you get the Council on your ass. The red tape is fucking terrible. Don’t even get me started on the paperwork.
A witch wrongs you in Hell? Let it the fuck go.
By the time you fill out all the proper forms to retaliate, it doesn’t matter anymore. ”
I’m pretty sure my brain breaks at that.
Forget the demon showing up in my closet.
Or my sister disappearing from this plane.
Different dimensions and humans being poked like fruit…
or vegetables. I can never remember which a tomato is.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. What’s truly stopped me in my tracks is paperwork.
“I…paperwork? There’s paperwork in Hell?”
“Way too much, honestly. I swear that’s half the reason Omen keeps disappearing. He says it’s because Clara keeps summoning him, but he sticks around for way too long. Pretty sure it’s to avoid the paperwork Ludo keeps giving him.”
“You have a lot of paperwork waiting for you then?”
“I’ve been helping at the gauntlet. Until I got cursed, that is. So, yeah, I’ve got a bit waiting for me.”
I could point out he missed my point, but it’s not worth it.
Explaining a joke instantly makes it not funny.
I don’t even know if it was a joke in the first place.
Maybe I just wanted him to tell me he stayed because of me instead of avoiding something else.
Which is ridiculous. Logically, I know that. Doesn’t make the rejection hurt less.
I press my lips together and glance away. “I’m going to make coffee. I have some books around here. I’ll see what I can find.”
He opens his mouth like he’ll protest. Turning and walking away is easier.
Cowardly, yet easier. Telling him whether to stay or go isn’t my call.
He doesn’t have to stick around for me to research.
It’s not until I’m in the kitchen I realize he never answered my question about Percy. Maybe he thinks she’s human.
“Doesn’t make sense why she’d have spellbooks,” I mutter as I go through the motions of making coffee. “Fuck, I could use a donut.”
After a good night’s sleep, my headache is completely gone.
Now I’m in that post-migraine stage where my thoughts don’t quite sit right in my brain.
Like the pain from before drowns them, and now they’re a bit waterlogged until they dry out.
It’s a strange feeling where time doesn’t line up with reality.
“This isn’t going to work,” he mutters from behind me, and I tense.
“Well, you’re free to leave, then.” I plan on saying more, except my throat closes and my eyes burn.
Ridiculous, Mari. Get your shit together. He doesn’t have to be here. You don’t want him here. It’s been a fucking week, not years. You’re not even dating.
My little pep talk does nothing. It’s as if logic has no place in my life anymore. Actually, it probably fled when my sister disappeared, I moved into her house and assumed her life. I swear I hear her whispers in the dead of night, urging me onward.
I shake my head and inhale deeply. He hasn’t left.
His presence fills the room without even trying.
Maybe it’s a demon thing. Lark seemed to exude the type of energy he does.
Could be she was part demon which is a ridiculous notion.
My heart clenches, adding to the moroseness I’ve fallen into.
With her gone, I’m left adrift. My one goal is to find her.
If she left on purpose and hates that I found her…
well, I’ll deal with that when I find her.
“Mari…” he sighs.
“It’s fine. If you can stay in Hell, you’ll probably get better. And I’m sure I can find a book to help me find what I’m looking for.”
His silence says it all—he agrees. I don’t know a lot about curses, but I do know recharging your magic helps. Demons probably aren’t much different from witches in that regard.
“What is it you’re looking for, spitfire?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting across the shell of my ear.
A shudder runs through me. His fingertips brush my leg, right beneath the hem of my shirt. Fire ripples from the spot, heating me from the inside out. One touch shouldn’t do such things. My body sways, whether toward him or away, I’m not sure.
And then he’s gone. His touch. His breath. His presence.
I glance over my shoulder to confirm what I already know.
I’m greeted with an empty kitchen. Bitterness tinged with disappointment washes over me.
The coffee machine beeps. I don’t have the stomach for it anymore, yet I pour some into a mug.
Reluctantly, I slide the second cup back into the cupboard.
If this was my house, I’d get rid of them all.
I’d have one of everything, maybe two so I wouldn’t have to do dishes every night.
If only there were a spell to do all the chores.
Maybe there is and I just haven’t found it yet.
Sighing, I leave my steaming cup on the counter and go to search the closet. I haven’t felt well enough to dig through it all. There has to be something that’ll point me in the right direction. If Lark left anything, she’d hide it away. Somewhere only I could find. I have no idea where, though.
We used to do all the normal sisterly things when we shared a room.
Hidden messages on the mirrors that only showed when they fogged up.
Coded notes stuffed in random places like the inside of the toilet roll.
Crystals arranged in a specific order only we understood.
We even learned Morse code one summer so Aunt Star couldn’t eavesdrop as she was wont to do.
We were closer than typical siblings—united under the banner of trauma.
I doubt I’ll find a set of instructions laid out perfectly for me taped behind the faux-fur coats.
Still, I end up tossing them behind me. Before I know it, the living room looks like a tiny tornado took up residence.
Only the pertinent items lie on the table I use to read cards for unsuspecting patrons.
It takes me another ten minutes to clear everything off.
“Won’t be needing this anytime soon,” I mutter as I move the fake crystal ball.
Spreading out the contents, I stare at the mishmash of witchy paraphernalia.
At first glance, I doubt any of this was used recently.
Lark always did have a problem with throwing anything away.
Nice box? Have to keep it, just in case she moved.
Journal with three pages of notes? Better save it for when the mood strikes again.
Faux-fur coats a friend off-loaded? Might move to a colder climate someday and will definitely need them.
Despite the ridiculousness of it all, I’m not about to get rid of anything.
Not only are these Lark’s possessions, but she might come back for them someday.
If I clean out her house, she’ll throw a godsdamn fit.
We’ll fight, she’ll give me the silent treatment, and we’ll start this whole fucking thing over again.
Except it’s never been like this before. She’s never disappeared without a trace.
“Shut up,” I growl at the voice in my head that still sounds suspiciously like my sister’s.
I sift through the rubbish, tossing old feathers and used candles aside until I get to the books.
The standard spellbook Aunt Star gave us both isn’t useful.
I have my own copy packed away in a storage locker.
Summoning spells or dimensional travel definitely isn’t in here.
The other books are smaller and covered in soft leather.
As I flip open one titled Necromancy, a chill walks down my spine.
This is not standard. And nothing like what we studied when we were younger.
I don’t even understand why Lark would want to know about necromancy.
Reanimating dead bodies? No thank you. Unless she was planning on killing me, then reviving me just to do it all over again.
I grit my teeth, not sure whether to laugh, cry, or throw the book when I spot Lark’s perfect script on a note tucked inside.
Mari-
Stop digging through my things. I’m not about to make an army of zombies. This is about plants. Not that you’d care. Go back to your slimy clay.
It’s not dated, but it’s from a few years ago when I went through a sculpting phase.
Finding a hobby isn’t as easy as it looks.
I’ve tried a whole host of them, never fully settling on one.
I shoot a guilty glance at the forgotten knitting project lying in a basket next to the couch.
It’s a mess of yarn with random knots I made somehow.
I still don’t know how to knit, but I also found out I can’t count.
I toss the book aside, not caring whether it survives the trip, then wince. I don’t have it in me to be angry with her. She knew I’d snoop with a cover like that. Frustration takes over, and I swipe my arm across the top of the table. A strangled cry leaves me, and I sink to my knees.
“Where are you?” I choke out, then gasp for breath between sobs.
I let Dimitri distract me, but no more. As my forehead sinks to the floor, I vow not to let a demon derail me from doing what I need to do.
I have to find her.