I wasn’t entirely surprised when I found Booke already awake. He didn’t bear the appearance of a well-rested man. “Are you feeling better, Corine?”
That was
so
like him. He was the one dying of a slow, evil spell . . . and yet he worried about my state of mind. I didn’t see how I could fail to do as he wished, provided I possessed the means. Afterward . . . well, I couldn’t consider the necessary civil responsibilities. How would I even explain his existence? As far as the authorities knew, Ian Booke vanished in 1947. It would be difficult to explain how he’d turned up seventy-some years later, looking fifty years younger than he was.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But we’re here to focus on your problems.”
My issues weren’t just emotional, however. That morning, it was all I could to do keep last night’s sandwich in my stomach. The nausea I’d blamed on the train stirred again, growing sharper with each movement. I tried to cover how bad I was feeling, but Booke had sharp eyes, despite his age. He leveled a direct stare on me.
“Mine will keep,” he returned quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Now I understood why he had been so enthralled by the idea of traveling the world via my dreams. If he hadn’t gone anywhere before the curse hit, then he’d never seen anything but the U.K. I couldn’t imagine being trapped in the same small house for so many years—and likely it had been at least fifty before he got on the Internet . . . and acquired a social life that way.
I covered my nausea with a question. “How long did it take you to figure out how to summon a lesser devil in order to get a few amenities?”
“Ten years.”
So ten years of solitary confinement; ten years of starvation. He must have been weak and desperate when he cast the spell. Whatever his sins of hubris, whatever he had done with Macleish’s wife, Booke didn’t deserve this. He’d long since served his time for his crimes.
“I’m not okay with this,” I said then. “There has to be a way to get you out of this spell without all those years hitting you like a truck.”
He shook his head. “If there is a way, Corine, I’ve not found it. And it isn’t as if I haven’t been looking.”
“Yeah, I imagine so.” Curious, I went to the window, peering out into amorphous darkness. It wasn’t full night, nor were there any stars. Instead it was more of a charcoal mist, swirling endlessly.
“Does this view ever change?”
Booke offered a grim, weary smile. “Unfortunately not.”
“I bet those were long years between the first time you made a deal with that lesser devil and when you discovered the Internet.”
“You can’t imagine. I read the same books a thousand times. I paced. I talked to myself . . . and went a little mad.”
“How did you discover . . .” I didn’t know quite how to put it. “Modern technology, a window to the outside world.”
“Anzu. That’s the devil who keeps me connected. In making our deal, he agreed to keep me apprised of any changes in the modern world that could improve my standard of living.”
“What did you promise him?” As I well knew, the Birsael were shrewd bargainers, ever alert for the opportunity to take advantage of a desperate human.
Booke glanced away, unwilling to disclose that information. Which meant whatever it was, it was bad. What bargaining chips did you have when you were locked away with nothing but your shadow for company?
But I let it go; there was no breaking a demon contract, once it was signed. “So he brought your first computer and you used that weakening spell to draw the gear over to your side?”
“Exactly so.” He indicated the door to his office, and I followed him down the hall, studying the sigils etched into the wooden floor. “The barrier is thinnest here, which is what permits data to slip through.”
“Which means emails and voice can penetrate, but not your physical form.”
Sorrow lined his pale face. “Yes. It was a lifeline, often more than you know.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Bile rose in my throat. I wished it was directly related to how he’d suffered. This had been coming on since yesterday, however. Trust me to come down with a stomach bug at the worst possible moment.
“Why would you? I didn’t want pity. Though I won’t pretend to have enjoyed my imprisonment, it wasn’t unjust.”
“I disagree,” I muttered. “It’s not illegal to sleep with somebody else’s wife. Immoral, yeah, bad judgment? Absolutely. But
this
is crazy.”
“That’s what happens when you piss off a sorcerer.” For the first time, he showed a hint of the wry humor that had characterized my interactions with him.
“Well, you outlived him,” I offered, like that could compensate for a lifetime trapped as he had been.
“Corine,” he said gently. “I’m at peace. I don’t need comfort, though I appreciate the thought. I just want an end to this. That’s why I asked you to come. I thought you could unravel the spell, now that your mother’s magick is functioning.”
Shit.
“That might be a problem.”
A frown furrowed his brow. “Why?”
That was when I lost control of my stomach. Shame burned up my throat in a hot ball as I raced for the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and hunched just in time, tears trickling from my eyes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Comedians were always talking about how bad English food was, but this? Really? As I rose to try to patch myself together, the strange face in the mirror haunted me. This woman was thin and sickly, her skin nearly green in its pallor. By sharp contrast, my red hair seemed out of place, like a whore selling her wares on the cathedral steps.
“Corine!” Booke rapped sharply on the door.
“I’m all right,” I answered.
By the time I opened the door, he was pacing. “Is this some residual sickness from your trip to Sheol? I’ve never known anyone who went . . . and returned.”
“Gods, I never thought of that.” Maybe I’d caught some demonic plague while I was there.
“How long have you been ill?”
“A day or so. I’m sure it’ll pass. Touch of flu.” Waving a hand, I dismissed the concern in his eyes.
He didn’t like it but he let me change the subject. “You were about to tell me about your magick, I think.”
Taking a breath to brace, I related the gist of events since I’d talked to him last: how demons had kidnapped Shannon to draw me into a trap, at which point I followed her to Sheol, and a latent demon queen in my bloodline woke up, controlled me, staged a coup in hell, and then it all went sideways. My throat was hoarse by the time I finished, and I was choking back tears when I concluded with what happened to Chance. Shan had mentioned as much the night before, but she hadn’t provided context. I ended with, “And now my mother’s magick isn’t working. I think I burned it out with demon magick in Sheol. And I don’t know anything about using that for anything but summonings.”
While it was true that I still had Solomon blood, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to summon something to break the spell. It might have dreadful consequences, to say nothing of the cost to my soul. But if Booke asked that of me, well . . . at this point, what did it matter? He’d helped me so often . . . and without question, that I wanted to give back. Just . . . not like this. I had some training from Tia in witch magick, but I couldn’t use demon magick to break the curse; I could only summon.
“That’s a potential solution,” he said, after a long pause. I could see he was weighing the cost to me versus the benefit of ending his long incarceration.
But it wasn’t the price. Hell, other practitioners already thought I was a black witch. What was one more deal with a demon to help a friend?
“I have a contact, but I’d rather not call her, as she tends to . . . well, devour people’s souls.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t have Maury’s true name, or I could summon him to make a deal. But I didn’t know if he had the power to break the spell, and I was unclear on what kind of energy his mate, Dumah, could consume. I was positive she could eat human energy, but what about spells? It seemed like a bad idea to summon her until I did a little research. Fortunately, Booke had an impressive, if untidy, arcane library right at my fingertips.
“Take your time. It’s rather nice to have company after all these years.”
“You don’t mind if I do some reading?”
“Help yourself. Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“You should eat.” Now he sounded how I imagined my dad would, if he hadn’t gone to Sheol in my place.
All my life, I thought my father abandoned my mother and me. Instead, he went to the demon realm in my place to protect me from the demons who wanted to use my blood. They’d tortured him in my stead, working to make the ultimate soulstone from the Solomon line; with it, they would’ve had the power to use it to open the gate to this world repeatedly. No limitations. So Albie Solomon bargained for my sake . . . and died in my arms once I freed him from bondage.
That was another loss, so many—
too
many. I didn’t welcome this heritage. Kel—a fast-healing, super-strong Nephilim who claimed to be God’s Hand—had said I was destined to be “important,” and I didn’t want that either. On two separate occasions, his archangel had assigned him to help or guard me, which meant the boss intended to use me in some spectacular fashion. There was only one future for me, one where Chance stood beside me again.
“Later,” I promised, stepping into the office.
The room was clean, despite the clutter . . . no dust anywhere. I imagined Booke had plenty of time for household chores. You could only read, pace, sleep, and eat so often. No wonder he was on the computer at all hours, looking for a chat or chess match.
Poor Booke.
I hoped the girl had been worth it.
Hours passed while I dug through his library. He had obscure spell books, tomes about demons, summoning treatises, whole volumes dedicated to various herbs. Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything helpful. According to the clock, it was late morning by the time Shannon joined me.
“My phone’s not working,” she said in greeting.
“Try it here by the desk. Stand on this side of the sigils. I think you should be able to call Jesse.”
It made sense that Booke would’ve selected this spot to imprint the circle that weakened the barrier, permitting contact with the modern world. Otherwise, he would have to cast a spell each time he wanted to make a call or use the Internet.
She stepped over the symbols on the floor. “Hey, two bars. Cool! Is this crazy or what?”
“I always wondered what his deal was, but this . . . ? I didn’t guess this. I thought he might be agoraphobic or something.”
Shan nodded. “Me too. I always wondered if he was young or cute. I thought he might have a thing for you.”
“Nah. He was just lonely. Dunno if you noticed, but he was just as happy to talk to you or Chuch or pretty much anyone who would IM him.”
“True enough. I don’t know how he’s not completely cracked.”
“Right? Can you imagine spending ten years alone, talking to yourself?”
She shivered. “Don’t even joke. Uh. We’re not stuck here, are we? Jesse is gonna think this is the most elaborate breakup scenario ever.”
I laughed despite myself. “No. Even if I can’t shatter the spell, Booke can weaken the barrier enough to let us out, like he did so we could come in.”
“I don’t want to leave him like this,” Shan said.
“Me either. But we’ll figure something out.” I closed the book on herbal remedies with a snap.
Nodding, she fell into a nearby chair with a casual grace I could never equal. “Let me ring the boyfriend, then. I can’t wait to attempt to explain this. He thought I was coming home as soon as we sorted out our passports.”
“We’re working on it,” I pointed out. “Making contacts anyway.”
“Yeah, but I think he expected me to stay out of trouble during the process.”
I arched a brow at her. “Does he know you at
all
?”
She grinned. “Point taken.” Shan spun, kicking her legs over the side of the chair as she dialed. A few seconds later, her voice softened. “Hey, you.”
Without making a conscious decision, I got up and left the office, giving them some privacy. The ache over having nobody to call throbbed like a toothache. But hell, I was still better off than Booke, who was trying to escape this noose just so he could fucking die. Under those circumstances, it seemed like I had little to complain about.
“Shannon’s talking to Jesse?” Booke guessed when I joined him in the kitchen.
He had a meal on the table, and by this point I was peckish. It was just cold sliced meat, cheese, and fruit, but I was glad of it. He was toasting bread the old-fashioned way when I sat down.
“No toaster?”
“I don’t like them,” he admitted. “I’ve adapted in most respects . . . and Anzu will bring me anything I ask for, but I just prefer the way it tastes from the skillet.”
“Fair enough.” At his gesture of invitation, I served my plate, and he joined me a few moments later.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope for that you’ve solved the problem.”
I offered a rueful smile. “If anyone knows what’s in your books, it’s you. I just hoped . . .”
“Me too.”
But sometimes the situation was impossible. There was only a dark night ending in the grave. Bleak thoughts filled my head as I ate in silence. Eventually it occurred to me that I hadn’t tried to use the touch since returning from Sheol. Maybe it could prove helpful in this regard, assuming it still worked.
“Do you have anything that belonged to Macleish?” I asked at length.
“I do, actually.”
“Let me see it?”
I was astonished when he brought me a gold tooth. Booke lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. “I told you we fought.”
Metal was generally good about capturing a charge, but this had physically been part of Donal Macleish. I had never attempted to read a glass eye or a prosthetic limb. The fact that their last encounter had been the catalyst for the tooth’s removal might actually prove valuable. I braced myself when Booke dropped the chunk of gold into my palm.
After a bracing breath, I dropped the shields that kept me from indiscriminately reading everything I touched. There came a flicker deep at the core of me, like this ability had gone dormant. At first I thought it wasn’t going to work, and then the flicker became a conflagration. Pain burned through me, a fire in my palm that seared my nerves all the way up to my elbows. Sweat broke out as the vision suffused me. My eyes went blank, and then superimposed images cascaded through my head, along with lightning-fast emotional impressions. Fleeting thoughts.