“No, we’re both named after flowers. Our aunts were named after birds. My father was named after one of the moon phases, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“Lark isn’t a flower.”
“Her full name is Larkspur. Obviously, we both go by nicknames.”
“Obviously,” he murmurs. “Except that’s not a summoning circle. That’s a?—”
“A what?” I ask, annoyed at the dramatic pause. When I glance down, though, he’s gone. No storm clouds, no lightning, no gloriously naked demon. Just an empty bedroom and silence. Deep, bone-chilling silence.
I shiver, then rush around the room, grabbing whatever clothes I can find. There’s not much I can do about his poofing back to Hell other than slam things around. Maybe curse at the floor. Nothing will change it. I try to remember what exactly he said when he was accusing me of all the bullshit. Something about Hell, but summoning circles are connected too.
Once in the living room, I dig through my sister’s books. All the titles are the same as they were the last time I checked. The necromancy book lies innocently on the table, and I shake my head.
“You’re no fucking help. Why don’t you do something worthwhile, huh?”
I stalk away to the secret room that’s not so secret. I’m surprised he didn’t find it sooner. Then again, he spent most of his time here either in my bed or collapsing in the living room. What I should be wondering is why he was snooping in the first place. Except I really don’t give a fuck.
“He told you,” I breathe. “He told you all about how demons act when they think they’re betrayed. It’s not really all that surprising.”
Except you like him.
I scoff as I shove open the door, then step back. The room doesn’t look a damn thing like it did before. There were plants and candles and some herbs and such, but this? This screams occult and dark magic. Black walls along with blackened windows seem to suck in the light from behind me. The circle, which apparently is not a summoning circle, glows a bright gold, almost flickering like a candle. Except there aren’t any.
“What the fuck, Lark.”
There’s more than meets the eye. Even a witch’s.
If I wasn’t so freaked out, I’d roll my eyes. She was always spouting that, though I never truly understood it. I figured she read it in a book and thought it made her sound mysterious. Maybe that’s why my brain is parroting her words—because this is a pretty creepy situation. I shuffle forward bit by bit until my toes reach the black floorboards.
“No fucking way am I going in there.” I clear my throat. “Uh, begone?” I clear my throat again. “Begone, demon.”
Nothing happens, because of course it doesn’t. I’m not a competent enough witch to make shit happen. Hell, Dimitri probably left the first time by chance. I’ve been playing at being a witch for so long, I think I lost some of my actual magic along the way. Can one of the gods or Mother Earth take it away if you’re being naughty?
I snort as Dimitri’s voice echoes in my mind. “Remember, he accused you of lying, Marigold. You can’t just forgive him because he called you a naughty girl. Have some fucking self-respect.”
Spinning on my heel, I let out a nervous laugh. My body sways, and I slam my hand into the wall to steady myself. I pressmy fist to my chest, willing my heart to stop racing. I drop my chin and focus on my breathing.
Mrow.
I freeze, staring at the scratched hardwood floors. If I pretend I didn’t hear what I think I heard, then it didn’t happen, right? That’s how it works in human houses. At least, I think it does. Of course, shit has to be difficult in witchy households.
When another meow rings out, followed by a crash of glass, I spin back around. Squinting into the darkness, I search for any movement. The circle isn’t glowing anymore. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Both. I’m going with both.
Lark doesn’t have a cat. No familiar or anything. Maybe a mountain lion broke in and is wreaking havoc on her spell room. Knowing my luck, it’ll be a panther.
“A panther from Hell,” I whisper, my voice wavering.
I shuffle forward until my toes line up with the threshold once more. I reach around the door frame and fumble for the light switch. Either it’s disappeared along with all my confidence, or my nerves made me forget where the fuck it is.
“Just close the door and walk away. Nothing good can come from walking into a pitch-black room that’s making noises.”
I lean as far as I can without moving my feet, attempting to reach the knob. My foot slips and I tumble in slow motion toward the floor. I barely get my hands underneath me and save myself from a bloody nose. A groan leaves me as my knee starts to sting, and I rest my forehead on the cold floor.
Mrow?
“Fuck me,” I breathe.
I pick my head up and come face to face with what’s possibly the world’s ugliest cat.
