Azareth raised one dark brow. “Easy.”
Ramona looked up sharply. “You want to go back to Hell.”
“Of course,” Azareth agreed. “But the magic will know if either of us hesitates. Even for a second.”
“I won’t hesitate.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Ramona went back to the grimoire, squinting at the cramped handwriting in the dim light. If she could just find something — anything — that might help. A counter-spell. A loophole. Some way to speed up the timeline.
“You should sleep,” Azareth said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re yawning.”
Ramona was, in fact, yawning. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I need to understand what I did. How the spell works. Maybe there’s something in here that can help us break it faster.”
“There isn’t.”
“You don’t know that.” Ramona turned another page. Her eyes were struggling to focus on the text. “There has to besomething.” She glanced toward her bookshelf, toward the books she hadn’t touched in two years. Maybe there was something in there.
Azareth was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: “There isn’t. I already checked.”
But Ramona wasn’t listening. She was turning pages, scanning spells, her exhausted brain trying to parse magical theory while running on cheap wine and desperation.
A Spell for Finding Lost Objects.No.
To Summon Rain During Drought.Useless.
For the Removal of Unwanted Facial Hair.She paused on that one, intrigued for a moment, then kept going.
“You should sleep, Mortal,” Azareth said again.
“I’m reading.”
But her eyes were getting heavier. The words were swimming on the page. Something about… lunar phases… and… binding rituals… and…
A Spell for the Permanent Freshness of Baked Goods.
Ramona’s eyes slid closed. The grimoire was still open in her lap, her finger marking a page about keeping bread from going stale.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ramona kept her eyes closed.If she didn’t open them, if she stayed very still, maybe she could pretend last night hadn’t happened. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t tried a summoning spell from a donation-bin grimoire. Maybe she could pretend there wasn’t a demon in her bedroom.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
Ramona’s eyes snapped open.
Azareth was still sitting in the desk chair. Still wearing that expensive suit, though it looked slightly more rumpled now. Her dark hair was tousled, a few strands framing her face. She was holding that unsettling HellBerry and looked like she hadn’t slept at all.
“You’re still here,” Ramona said. Her voice came out rough, scratchy.
“Unfortunately.”
“I was hoping you were a nightmare.”
Azareth raised a dark eyebrow. “Oh, I am, but again, a very tangible one stuck with you thanks to the world’s worst grimoire spell.”
