“Yes. You’ll stand here”—he pointed to a circle at the edge of the design—“and make sure your blood flows into the bowl. We can’t let a single drop fall outside. We must be very precise.”
She nodded decisively.
“When I’ve finished your part,” he said, “you need to step away as quickly as possible. The final sacrifice is my own blood, and once I make it, the sigil will erupt into hellfire. The spell is both a key and a gate, so if we are successful, the hellfire will give way to a portal. That portal leads to a door inside Lucifer’s territory, which must be opened by hand once the seal is broken. All that is to say: Make sure you’re away from the sigil when the portal opens, or you may be sucked through.”
“Got it.”
“Good.” His gaze wandered over her body in his shirt. Through the thin fabric, he could see her nipples and a hint of the dark triangle of hair between her legs. “Are you warm enough?” He couldn’t have his secret ingredient cold, could he.
“It’s toasty, thanks to the fire. Plus, I feel like this is a good outfit to make a blood sacrifice in. Very witchy, don’t you think?”
His brow arched. “Ithinkthat I’d like to tear it off and fuck you again.”
Her lips curved wickedly. “Well, then I’m definitely not changing.”
He shot her a look and turned away, shaking himself out of his sex-crazed delirium. This behavior was absurd. He was truly losing his mind.
“Come,” he said. “Bring the knife and bowl. It’s time.”
DEATHTRAP
AS THEY WENT THROUGH THE FINAL STAGES OF PREPARATIONfor the spell, Suyin couldn’t help noticing how differently Murmur acted toward her now. Occasionally, he would ask her to pass him some ingredient or read something off his notes. She even asked questions, and he answered readily, as if eager to share his thoughts. It was a far cry from “If you disturb me or get in my way, I’ll throw you back into the dungeon.”
Most of the prep work had been done in advance, and before long, he was beckoning for her to bring the knife and bowl into the sigil’s outer circle.
She handed the tools to him, and he had her hold out her arm. Rolling her sleeve up past her elbow, he wrapped a hand around her forearm—his hands were so big his fingers met on the other side—and stopped, looking her in the eye.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded once.
“You’ll be safe.”
“I’m not scared.” For herself. She couldn’t help worryingabout Murmur, however. The stakes had never been higher, and she hated the thought of anything happening to him during the ritual.
“Make sure every drop of your blood goes into the bowl and nothing escapes. If it does, tell me immediately.”
She nodded.
“When I tell you, leave the circle quickly without stepping on any of the lines.”
She gave him a look. “I know that, Murmur.” Not stepping on the lines of an active spell was pretty much the first thing a witch learned.
He gave her one right back. “Humor me. We’re going over every detail to ensure everything goes perfectly and we don’t have to do this damn ritual again.”
“Fine. You may continue to mansplain.”
His look of confusion made her laugh.
“Never mind,” she said, waving a hand.
“Back away from the sigil when you’re done.” He pointed over to the farthest worktable. “There are rags there. Use one to bind your arm. I also made you a healing accelerant. Drink that and your wound will heal quickly.”
Sure enough, there was a jar of some nasty-looking green liquid beside the bowl of water and rags. In the midst of preparing his spell, he’d taken the time to gather supplies for her to care for her wound.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked vaguely disturbed by her gratitude.
