“She was my sister—my sweet, loving, funny, caring sister. There isn’t a universe where she deserved any of the shit that happened to her. So fuck you for saying that, you heartless piece of shit.”
My finger is pointed right in his face, and I’m panting, barely able to get any oxygen into my lungs. I feel like screaming, like ripping his hair out and my own.
Lynx doesn’t react to my anger like I expect. He doesn’t give me what I want and start the fight I’m itching for. He just stares at me, looking both human and demon at the same time.
“Is that how she died? Illness?” His tone is calm, steady—understanding. That last part could just be a trick of my imagination, but Iswearsomething like it flashes behind his eyes.
There’s a pause before the answer comes out of my mouth. “Yes.”
I step back, straightening my fingers before curling them back into fists, repeating the motion as I resist the urge to pace to expel this suffocating energy inside me.
“She got sick, and I spent three years working two jobs to put food on the table, keep the roof over our heads, and get her seen by doctors and—and it turned out it didn’t matter. She stopped taking her medication because she didn’t want to see me kill myself to keep her alive.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I sway back. Of all the things that could come out of his mouth, that was the very last thing I expected. Those five words are like a bucket of ice over my fire, dousing my fury so all that’s left is the emptiness.
My nostrils flare as red tinges my cheeks like I’m going to be hit with another round of tears. “I never told her that I would’ve worked myself to the bone for the rest of my life if it meant she were still alive and okay.”
“She knows,” he says with certainty.
I shake my head. She doesn’t, and there’s no way he could possibly be sure about that. I can’t keep having this conversation with him. He doesn’t care about anything that I’m saying. Hejust wants—I don’t know what the point of this is. But this line of questioning needs to come to an end.
I change the topic. “Did you see the spell I did? The one in the grimoire?”
He nods.
“Do you understand what it means?”
Another nod. “It’s to summon spirits from the afterlife.”
“Spirits, not demons,” I clarify.
The internet told me as much. I thought there could have been nuances to the language that I wasn’t accurately translating. But I suppose this would be more his area of expertise than mine.
“So the spell said,” he confirms.
Or maybe not?
Or maybe because he and Tony were once humans, they’re classed as “spirits”?
“Then how are you here? And why are you connected to me?” This isn’t the type of shit they taught in high school. I doubt they did in college either—not like I ever got the chance to find out.
“If I had the answer, I wouldn’t still be here,” Lynx replies, deadpan.
“What if I redo the spell but with you standing in the circle? Or reverse-engineer it somehow?”
He stares off into the distance, genuinely considering my suggestion—something I never thought he’d do.
A divot forms between his brows. Not the angry kind. More… confused. It’s… charming, in a way. Another glimpse of the person he is beneath the Devil horns and red eyes.
I prefer this version of him. It’s like I’m seeing the man behind the mask.
“Based on what happened with Tony, you’ll end up summoning another demon. And trust me, you don’t want to do that. Pray that you never, ever come across one that was born.”
I never wanted to come across one that was turned either.
I run my fingers through my hair, and his eyes track the movement. “Maybe there are other spells in the grimoire that could undo?—”
