“I beg to differ, my friend. You’re far more capable than most people I know. And don’t forget—you can see the gargoyles when they’re cloaked.”
She grunted. “And demons seem to have a hard-on for me.” She furrowed her brows. “But if it was locked up, how did you get the key code—from Roman?”
Larissa tapped her temple. “No, but I know Roman. After several attempts, I figured it out.”
“Smart.” Janie nodded. “Wait, let’s cut to the good part. Is there a way to undo my bad call?”
Larissa pursed her lips. “Yes. You were right that there are instructions to recall a demon.” She tapped her index fingers together. “But it’s not easy.”
“What does that mean?”
She opened the book and flipped several pages. Janie averted her gaze until Larissa said, “Here’s the page that reveals how to do so.”
With reluctance, Janie dragged her gaze to the book. Decorative swirls of red and black ink surrounded what appeared to be an ancient language. Her heart beat faster, and her palms turned hot and sweaty. “Does it just require reading it, like I did?”
“No.” Larissa shook her head and frowned. “It’s easier to summon a demon as they want to cross over. That’s why they trick people during seances or possess a human body. But sending them back? That’s much more difficult. It requires more than chanting the words to be able to invoke magic powerful enough to overtake a demon’s strong will.”
Hope fell with a thud.
“And what it needs is a sacrifice.”
Janie blinked and then gaped. “Are you kidding me? A sacrifice? What millennium are we living in again?”
Larissa’s features twisted with distaste. “It requires something the demons would want.”
Janie stepped backward, bleakness suffocating all hope and sending it plummeting through the floorboards. “What?” Her mouth opened and closed again. “What?” she repeated. “What kind of sick incantation is that?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Close the book, Larissa. It’s too dangerous. We can’t mess with shit like this.”
“I know.” She closed the book. “We’re not going to sacrifice anything, but we should be able to find another way. The witches are contemplating. I know you want to help. While the shifters are out searching, we can try to help from a different angle. Let’s try to think of a workaround. I’ll talk to Roman about it when he gets back.”
Janie’s pulse raced. She pictured red glowing eyes. She remembered the sinister way the ink rose from the pages of the book after she’d said the words aloud. Her palms turned clammy. “I’m the last person who can help when it comes to that horrid book. Please—please—lock it up.”
“Okay, okay, sorry.”
Her heartbeat didn’t slow down until Larissa put the book into the safe and locked it. She then hung the painting back on the wall.
Janie’s breathing remained rapid, coming in shallow gasps. “I never want to see that book or have anything to do with magic ever again.”
ARTO
The sun shone brightly over the city, but it wouldn’t last for much longer. Sundown would creep overhead before most even ate dinner. Arto said he’d return to Janie then. They could steal a few hours together before duty drove him back on patrol.
Arto started his search near Janie’s house. Since the demon had been detected there twice, that was where the Stone Sentries focused their search, but they didn’t leave the rest of the city unprotected. Miguel was also in this area. Franco remained at the compound and Vidal was mounted on a tower nearby. Manny and Talia patrolled the Boston Common on foot. Diego, Nathaniel, and others had taken up positions mounted high above the city, and Roman and Arto remained in constant contact with their sentries.
He spotted Miguel walking through the city, blending in with the humans. He wore a long, dark, wool coat and held a white shopping bag, appearing as if he was out Christmas shopping as many were doing.
Arto approached. They greeted each other and walked together for several blocks, discussing the situation. Then they fell silent, each fixed on their thoughts. Janie was almost ever-present in Arto’s mind now. Miguel had two children with his mate, Vera. He was in his early forties and had many years as a partner and a father.
Arto turned to Miguel. He had a few grays streaking his dark hair and faint lines at the corner of his eyes, which Arto hadn’t noticed before.
“There’s something about this situation that makes this even more agonizing,” he admitted.
“What’s that?”
Arto rubbed the back of his neck. “Janie… Janie’s my mate.”
Miguel’s dark eyes bulged. “It’s true, then?”
Arto cocked his head. What an odd remark to his statement. “Yes.”
