The Bound Witch

by Ivy Asher

  Prek presses the buzzer again, and Rogan moves closer to me with the umbrella to make sure I’m fully covered.

  “That’s very sweet of you, thank you,” I tell him warmly.

  “Yes, very sweet of you,” Marx grumps as he tries to crowd the door to keep from getting wet now that Rogan moved the umbrella so it’s only covering us.

  “I told you to grab an umbrella,” Rogan reminds him, and Marx grunts in response.

  “The app said it wasn’t going to be raining,” Marx defends.

  “It’s Glasgow, it’s pretty much always raining at some point in the day. Should have listened,” Elon teases as he holds his own umbrella over him and Prek.

  “Maybe he’s not home?” Elon observes as Prek buzzes for a third time.

  “He’s home, he just hates company. He’ll give in eventually,” Prek reassures us, but I don’t feel reassured barging in on a mancer who clearly doesn’t want to be disturbed.

  If I weren’t at a loss for what else to do about the demon situation, I’d tell everyone to let the poor guy be. Unfortunately, this is our one and only lead.

  “He’s cagey, but this is his job. He just likes to make it clear who’s boss before he lets anyone in. It’s a power trip,” Prek explains, not at all fussed by the fact that we’re being ignored by whoever this Mr. Muda is.

  Prek explained last night about his first assignment with the Order and how they were tasked with hunting down a demon who was killing affluent mancers in the business district. Prek was on research and paperwork, which is how he ended up learning about Mr. Muda and speaking to him for the first time.

  Turns out that the head of an elite family was trying to take out his competition. He was discovered and purged, and the demon was given what he was promised in the contract and sent back to his realm. It all sounded pretty cut and dry until Prek told me that what was promised in the contract was every single one of the Contegomancer’s children.

  I had gaped at him for a solid minute when he revealed that little tidbit. I also learned that, in the eyes of witch law, if you are under the age of fifteen, you are technically considered property of your parents. As property, you can be traded or sold to anyone, including a demon, in exchange for whatever you want.

  I had no idea the rules were that archaic. It still makes me queasy and mad. Apparently, there are lots of loopholes too in the witching world for owning another magic user. Like, for example, forcing someone to become a familiar. While illegal and a prosecutory offence, if you can hide it for five years, you’re then home free, because that’s the statute of limitations for that particular crime. I might have given Rogan a dead arm when I learned that. I now have every intention of going home and studying the laws, just to be sure I can protect myself in this messed up culture I’m now forever a part of.

  Prek buzzes again, and just when I blow out a forlorn sigh, Beast, from Beauty and the Beast, snarls a “what!” in that deep, dark, rich way that he does.

  A shiver works its way up my back, but not from fear; that damn voice is the stuff of many a red-blooded woman’s fantasies, and I’m not ashamed to say I’m one of them. Disney freaking knew what they were doing when they cast that voice.

  “Circummancer Orson, Phonomancer Bevit, Osteomancer Kendrick, Hemamancer Kendrick, and Osteomancer Osseous request a formal visit with the Linker,” Prek states firmly, and the speaker goes silent.

  I try not to fidget as I wait to see what happens now, but a higher pitched buzzing starts, and Prek reaches for the handle of the door and pulls it open. I guess that’s a good sign. Prek does the hand motion that signals the rest of us should go in before him. The guys all look at me in that ladies first kind of way, but I swear they’re just hoping this guy will be less likely to yell at me than he is at them. Jokes on them though: the Beast always sounded the hottest when he was being all grumpy and bossy, so I’m here for it.

  There’s only a set of large red double doors in front of us, so I make my way toward them. Just as I get close, one side opens and a very tall, well-defined man stares down at me. From the minute my toffee-colored eyes connect with his silver ones, dread starts to hammer in my chest. I don’t know how I know or why Prek would have failed to inform us, but I’m staring into the eyes of a fucking demon, and he looks like he’s ready to eat us for lunch.

  13

  “What the fuck?” Elon growls from behind me, and the entire atmosphere changes in a breath.

  Tension skates across my skin as Rogan’s consternation and distress bloom in my chest. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can feel my panic. Every single one of us calls on our magic, and I can instantly feel the protections on this demon are strong as fuck.

  “I see you’ve had some recent dealings with my kind,” the demon says indifferently, not at all bothered by the fact that each of us is intent on destroying him. “I suppose I should say half of my kind since I’m not a pure blood demon. Wouldn’t want the higher-ups to hear word that I was claiming to be on their level.”

  Uneasy mumbles sound off behind me, and I can feel alarm skittering through the atmosphere like roaches trying to escape light. The demon rolls his silver eyes at the shocked reaction, but the gesture looks odd as his entire eye is silver. There’s no distinguishable pupil, nothing that separates an iris from the cornea. Nope, there’s only silver, which is framed by long black lashes, coppery brown skin, straight black hair that’s longer than mine, luscious lips, and a voice that I’m certain melts the underwear off both women and men in equal measure.

  He leans against the frame of the door, his silk robe-slash-smoking-jacket top draping open to show his muscular chest and washboard abs. A delicious V of muscle dips down into a pair of ripped up skinny jeans. He stands there staring at me, bare foot tapping impatiently.

  “What?” I ask confused, thrown off by the blasé attitude and the fact that this demon isn’t trying to kill us.

  “Just the looks then, huh?” he counters, his face radiating faux pity. “I was hoping there was a brain accompanying that gorgeous hair and that sinful face. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

  “Did you just call me stupid?” I demand, taken aback.

  What the hell is going on right now?

  Rogan growls, like he’s ready to intervene with his fists, but the demon ignores him.

  “Doll, you’re going to have to catch up quicker than that, or this is going to be a long ass evening. I have a waxing appointment at nine p.m. sharp that I will be attending with or without you here. So, let’s get it together, mmmkay?”

  He turns to walk back into his flat, and I stare after him, dumbfounded.

  Beast is a fucking prick.

  I turn back to the group, not sure what to do. “A little warning would have been nice, Prek,” I lob, irritated with the jumpstart my heart just got when a demon—correction, half demon—opened the door.

  “I didn’t know,” Prek defends, and I narrow my gaze at him.

  “He has silver eyes,” Elon counters, like that alone should have given the pompous ass away.

  “What? No. He has brown eyes, looks Italian or Spanish, definitely not demonic at all,” Prek argues.

  Elon and I look at each other, baffled.

  “They can’t see through my glamour, doll. If the laws are being abided, then you two shouldn’t be able to either...interesting,” he purrs, his eyes flitting from me to Elon, a hint of curiosity in his quirked brow. “Are you coming in or not, I have better things to do than stand here all day,” the demon calls out through his still open door, and I huff out a sigh.

  He’s an arrogant shit, but he is our only lead.

  I move to step into the apartment, but Rogan stops me and instead takes point, striding in first. The rest of us follow in after him, and the door shuts of its own volition behind us, making me jump. The room is a hybrid between a lounge and a library. Walls of books on built-in, dark wood bookcases line the room. The floor is the same rich dark color, and so is the ceiling. Color is spr
inkled about the space through the spines of different books and glass antique lamps. Four dark green velvet couches are arranged in a square in the middle of the room, with a large coffee table at the center that’s covered in ledgers, chronicles, and volumes of all sorts.

  The demon carefully pours water into a tea cup from a tray at his side. After dropping a cube of sugar into the same cup, he starts stirring it, settling in at the corner of one of the couches, not bothering to offer the rest of us anything.

  “My name is Muda, as I’m sure your associate has informed you,” he announces, jutting his chin in Prek’s direction. “Now, how can I be of service?” he continues, his tone making it clear that he’d rather not be of service at all.

  “We’ve had an encounter with a demon—” Rogan states, angling his body so that I’m hidden behind him.

  “Yeesss, I gathered that much,” Muda croons bitchily, cutting Rogan off.

  My temper flares, and I step to the side so that Rogan isn’t blocking me anymore. “Moopa, is it?” I purr, purposely getting his name wrong.

  I scrunch my nose at him like I think he’s just too adorable for words, as I casually run my finger over a side table. I let disgust flash in my eyes, and then I look down at my hand and pretend to discreetly wipe something off of my finger. There isn’t a speck of dust on the table. The whole room is immaculate, but I see Muda’s eyes tighten infinitesimally, and I know I’ve scored one for team Just the Looks Then.

  “I’m sure a sophisticated half demon like yourself is used to dealing with all types, so I want to cut to the chase and save us the opportunity of watching you get your balls waxed later. Nine p.m. sharp, right?” I confirm on a squealy laugh, like I’m nothing more than a vapid troll who speaks the same level of nasty cunt this fucker does. Prek shoots me a concerned look, but I ignore him. Clearly, these guys don’t speak fluent bitch.

  Muda raises an eyebrow in a clear invitation to go on, so I stride through the copse of male mancers still standing in the entryway and make myself comfortable on the tufted green velvet sofa across from him.

  “Now that we’ve all had a chance to size each other up and find each other desperately wanting,” I begin again, eyeing the half demon up and then down before dismissing him entirely and focusing on his home. I catch Rogan doing an excellent job of hiding the amusement I feel through our tether. Marx shoots me a lightning fast wink before I turn away and offer Muda a pitying look that’s filled with scathing judgment of his living conditions, as though he’s living in a hovel instead of this stunning space that could easily be featured in a magazine. His hand tightens on the spoon he’s stirring his tea with.

  “I think it’s important for you to know that you’re staring at five people who have absolutely nothing to lose. Nothing,” I repeat sweetly, and Muda moves to set his tea cup down, like this conversation now has his full attention. “There’s no doubt that your protections and defenses are strong, and I’m sure from the feel you copped when you first opened the door, that you know what you’re up against with us. It would be a good fight, I’m not afraid to say it. You might even win...or, who knows, you might not. We are prepared to find out. I’m not so sure that you are though,” I tell him calmly, happy to point out these facts. “So, if you’re happy to stop fucking around, we can ask some questions, you can provide the answers, and then we’ll happily hop on our brooms and fly away. You can even keep the mean girl shit up—if the worst thing that happens to me today is you calling me stupid, then it’s been a good day. Mmmmkay?”

  Muda stares at me for a beat, sizing me up as though he didn’t see me properly the first time. He sits back and crosses his legs, and that’s all the invitation I need.

  “If you would be so kind, would you start by please explaining to us why Elon and I can see past your glamour, but the others can’t?” I ask, mirroring his position on the couch.

  “It was a failsafe woven into the magic of the first Demon and Mancer Accords. If a demon violates said Accords and it negatively impacts a mancer or puts them at risk, they gain the ability to see through glamour and sense when a demonic threat is near. It’s a protective measure.”

  I look to Elon, thinking of earlier when we both just happened to wake up and had the urge to sit outside. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, and I file it away to discuss later.

  “Is it safe to say that if we are now seeing through glamour and sensing demonic threats, then the demon that’s hunting us isn’t supposed to be?”

  Muda stills slightly, and if I wasn’t so homed in on his body language because I suspected it would tell me more than his snotty mouth, I probably would have missed it.

  “Demons and mancers have strict laws that govern our interactions. Hunting is only permissible if you were part of a contract or sold as part of a contract,” he declares tightly, and I get the impression that he’s choosing his words very wisely.

  “And if I was neither of those things, then this demon would be in violation of the Accords, correct?” I press, trying not to get ahead of myself or feel any kind of hope just yet.

  “Correct,” Muda confirms stiffly.

  “What happens exactly if the agreements between the two species are disobeyed?” Elon asks, his tone casual, but the gleam in his eyes is ripe with challenge.

  Muda clears his throat and smooths his pants in thought for a beat. “If the Accords were breached, then the offending side has a set amount of time to correct the infraction. If they are unable to set things right in the allotted time, concessions are made, concessions that will be felt deeply by the offending party.”

  “And how can we prove that an offence against the Accords has taken place?” Prek questions, moving to sit next to me on the couch.

  Rogan releases an annoyed grunt, and I shoot him a look that says if you snooze, you lose.

  “You file a complaint, and it gets investigated,” Muda tells him simply.

  I snort out an incredulous laugh, unable to stop myself. If I didn’t think this smooth-talking half demon was such a douche, I’d offer him a good one with that joke. Muda looks over at me, his eyebrow twitching up in a way that tells me he’s back to being unimpressed.

  “Wait. Really? That’s not your idea of a joke?” I question, now confused and unsure.

  “Do I look like the type to jest?” he asks haughtily, and I shoot him a look that says well, I think you’re a joke, does that count? “There are protocols in place, and technology speeds up the process. My job as Linker is to facilitate a satisfactory outcome for all sides,” he declares, as though he’s reading lines for a badly written and over-acted play.

  I look at Rogan like this dude can’t be serious, right? I was fully expecting to leave here with vague instructions on how to summon Jamie’s demon so that we could try to kill it. I didn’t even think we’d get a solid lead on how to kill the fucker, but that didn’t mean we weren’t going to give it our best shot. Now this uppity bunghole is sitting here telling us, if we file a complaint, the demon police will take care of the problem?

  This all feels way too easy, which makes me wonder if this is all some kind of trap. Subtly I start looking around for some sign that a full-blooded demon is lurking in the back room or behind some secret door that leads to a lair below us or something. All I see is books and antiques though.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” I declare, deciding if this is a trap, it’s better to spring it now. I wasn’t kidding when I told Muda that we have nothing to lose by going head-to-head with him. “I would like to file a formal complaint,” I state firmly, and then suddenly there’s a sickening familiar feeling in my gut, and I can feel that I’m being yanked somewhere else.

  Son of a bitch.

  My panicked eyes meet Rogan’s for all of a split second before I’m torn away. Desolation rips through me from the tether, and I can hear Rogan’s shouted, “Nooo!” like an echo in my mind as everything around me tilts and blurs.

  The sensation of falling overwhelms my senses, and then all at on
ce it stops. Terror crawls up my throat, burning as it rises and robbing me of air. A feral scream sounds off all around me, and it takes me a second to realize it’s coming from me. My feet hit solid ground again, but my surroundings are fuzzy, and I scramble back, scared to death that at any moment, I’m going to slam up against a cold stone wall, and then I’ll blink and be back inside that horrific church again.

  “No, not again. Please, not again,” I whimper.

  My heart races so fast it feels like it’s going to explode, and my body shakes from the overload of adrenaline and dread.

  Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid! How is this happening to me again?

  I try to tamp down on the self-recrimination so I can focus on wherever this asshole has taken me. I ignore the helplessness I feel, knowing my body will survive another death—Elon is proof of that. I just wish I knew that my mind could withstand another torturous round with the demon and whoever it’s possessing. I clamp my mouth closed, and the fearful keening stops. I can break out of this cage, I know I can, I just need to find something to cut my hand open with. I need to bleed.

  Why the hell did I trust a demon? I walked right into his home, knowing what he was, and now I’m going to pay the price for that stupidity.

  My eyes dart frantically around at my feet, searching when a firm hand grips my elbow. Panicked, I shove every ounce of magic I can at whoever it is. The power slams up against a strong barrier, but I’m too scared and desperate to be deterred, so instead of trying to crash through the barriers, I wrap my will around the protective shell entirely and then shove it and the person inside of it away. I look over in time to see Muda go flying across what now looks like a lobby, and slam hard into a secretary’s desk. The female sitting at the sleek setup screams in shock before Muda’s body hits her and they both go crashing to the ground.