Spells & Ashes

by Kim Richardson

  “Gramps! Poe! I’m home!”

  I didn’t realize how hungry and dehydrated I was until I reached the kitchen. Channeling magic will do that. It was why I usually carried protein bars with me. But tonight I’d run out of the house so fast after I’d gotten a tip on Julia’s whereabouts that I’d totally forgotten to grab some.

  After I peeled off my gloves, I pulled out a loaf of brown bread, cold meats, tomatoes, lettuce, and some mayo, and then hit the fridge door closed with my butt. I settled my food on the granite kitchen island and began making my sandwich.

  The scent of sulfur reached me followed by the flutter of wings.

  A large raven flew into the kitchen and landed on the island next to the loaf of bread.

  “You look like hell,” said the raven, ruffling his black feathers. “Long night?”

  I sighed, anger and guilt simmering in my gut. “You have no idea.”

  Poe was my familiar, my spirit animal, my magical aid, and demon companion. Every witch is paired with his or her familiar as soon as they show signs of magic at an early age, usually at around prepubescence. Typically, familiars were given from family members who’d passed on, where the young witch inherited her familiar. Yet, not all witches used familiars either. It’s a personal choice.

  Familiars came in all shapes and races of demons. Poe was a Malphas demon, a mid-level demon in the shape of a raven. The most common animal spirits or familiars are cats. But old Finny, the cat familiar who’d belonged to my mother and her mother before her—wanted nothing to do with me. He hissed and spat and wished me dead.

  Well, that just wouldn’t do. Why would I want to pair myself for the rest of my life with a familiar that hated me? I didn’t.

  As a result, I did what other dark witches did before me. I went out into the nearest woods, which was New York’s Central Park, on a full moon, and worked out the Familiar Summoning Spell to call one.

  Poe showed up a minute later.

  Not only were ravens not your typical familiar, but he’d come on his own, which made it more special and our bond iron-tight.

  With a great flap of his wings, Poe flew to my shoulder.

  And then he bit down on my ear, hard.

  “Ow!” I glared at the raven as he sprang down my arm, my fingers pressed over my throbbing ear. If I was bleeding, I was going to boil him in my cauldron. “Are you crazy! Why the hell did you do that?”

  The raven raised a brow in challenge. “That was for leaving me behind. How could you do that to me, Sam?”

  “Me?” I yelled incredulously. He was asking for it. “You weren’t even here when I got the call.”

  “You couldn’t wait?”

  “No.” I narrowed my eyes. “And where the hell were you? Thieving again? I can’t wait to hear whose necklace or expensive watch went missing in the middle of the night. Damn it, Poe. You’re going to get me in trouble.” I checked my fingers. No blood. He was a lucky bird.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The raven turned his head. “I’m a bird. I went for a few flaps around the neighborhood. A few occasional droppings. That’s what we do.”

  “You’re a demon,” I cursed. “And a very temperamental one. It was just one night.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “Don’t push it, bird.”

  Poe laughed but decided to shut his beak. Smart bird.

  He jumped to the table. “I would have liked to be there though,” said the raven, as he picked up a slice of meat and swallowed it whole. “I could have helped.”

  “Maybe.” I cut my sandwich in half and just stared at it. Poe was great at helping me with spells and sigils. But exorcisms were my thing, and I’d never failed at one before. Until tonight.

  “Sam. What happened?” asked the raven, noting my discomfort.

  I looked up and met Poe’s black eyes. “I—”

  “Damn those witches! By the cauldron, I swear! Can’t even spare a little mandrake!” came a muffled voice.

  An old man came strutting into the kitchen, six feet tall with a headful of thick, white hair past his ears. His light-blue bathrobe billowed behind him, revealing his pale chest and white briefs.

  I cocked a brow. “I thought we’d agreed you’d put on some real clothes from now on.”

  My grandfather made a face. “I’m ninety-two years old, my girl. How am I supposed to remember everything you tell me?”

  “Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Your memory is better than mine.” I took a bite of my sandwich and nearly moaned. God, that was good. I took another.

  “True.” My grandfather grinned wickedly, his eyes widening.

  I swallowed. “Why do you need mandrake?”

  My grandfather’s eyes widened further. “For a new spell I’m working on. I call it”—he moved a hand dramatically in the air for an added effect—“Gordon’s Broomshine.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “What is it?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew.

  My grandfather straightened and thrust out his chest. “It turns water into gin.”

  Poe spat the meat from his mouth and started coughing.

  My grandfather turned on him, glaring. “What? You don’t think I can do that, bird? Don’t think I’ve got the stuff enough to pull it off?”

  The raven gave a little shrug. “I didn’t say anything,” answered the bird, a smile in his tone.

  My grandfather made a disapproving noise in his throat and then turned to look at me. “So? How did it go? Did you find Julia?”

  Oh, hell. I set my half-eaten sandwich on the counter, having lost my appetite suddenly. “Yeah. I found her.”

  “And?”

  “And it was a royal disaster.”

  My grandfather crossed his arms over his chest. “Do tell, Granddaughter.”

  “I couldn’t exorcise the demon,” I answered, feeling like a giant asshole, and I quickly recapped the events leading to her death. I left out the part of the angel-born, though I didn’t know why exactly.

  “I’ve never not been able to cast out a demon,” I said, feeling ill and angry. “But I couldn’t. Not this one.” I slammed my hand on the granite countertop. “Damn it. Now that girl is dead because of me. I failed her. I failed her parents.” I’m going to find you, Demon. And when I do. I’m going to kill you, very slowly.

  “Did you check your sigil,” asked Poe, his head tilted to the side in a questioning gesture. “Maybe there was a gap in your star or circle.”

  I shook my head. “I checked it. It was fine.”

  “I’m afraid that could only mean one thing,” informed my grandfather, his face twisting in distress. He planted his hands flat on the granite counter and said, “The demon was more powerful than you.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Of course it was. I took a deep breath, feeling more like a failure. I really had to get my act together, or I was going to lose paying customers. Who wanted to hire an exorcist if they couldn’t do the one thing they were hired to do—cast out the demon?

  I picked at my sandwich with my fingers. “Of all the seventy-two demon races in the Ars Goetia—which I know by heart, by the way, and have used hundreds of times—this one I didn’t recognize. Its aura was different. More powerful. More dangerous.”

  Thick white eyebrows furrowing, my grandfather took a breath and said, “Why don’t I like the sound of that.”

  “Because it gets worse.”

  My grandfather frowned, his expression intent and pensive. “How much worse?”

  “What is it, Sam?” Poe hopped closer to me. “Spit it out. What’s worse?”

  Bracing myself, I pursed my lips and said, “The demon dragged Julia’s soul back to the Netherworld.”

  Silence.

  My grandfather cursed. “By the cauldron! That poor child. What a horrible, horrible thing to have happened to her. First her possession, and now her soul?” He stood still for a moment, and I could see his mind working by the shifting in his expressi
ons and his concerned intensity. He looked like a mad scientist as he tapped his toes on the wood floor, a hand rubbing his chin. “What’s your working theory?”

  “The demon was performing some kind of ritual before I interrupted it.” Sadly, not with my foot up its ass. I yanked my phone from my pocket and scrolled through the pictures. “Poe. Have you ever seen these symbols before?” I asked, angling my phone toward the bird.

  The raven shook his head after a moment. “Looks like the scribbles of a four-year-old trying to write his name,” said the demon bird, and I gave him a frown.

  “Grandpa?” I leaned over the counter to show him.

  The old man inspected the images on my phone. “Old. The etching is too spindly and curly to be Enochian. Pagan, perhaps? I’m afraid I don’t recognize them. The old languages were never my strong suit. Neither are witches, apparently,” he added irritably.

  I looked into my grandfather’s blue eyes, seeing my mother’s eyes, and said, “I’ll get you some damn mandrake if it’s that important to you.”

  “You will?” he said, beaming. He did a little dance, twirled, and finished with a bow. I was glad he’d remembered to tighten his bathrobe. “Samantha Beaumont, you spoil me.” He showed me teeth, which surprisingly, he still had. “Did you know that you’re my favorite grandchild?”

  “I’m you’re only grandchild.”

  “Exactly,” he answered, pointing a finger in the air as though I’d gotten the right answer to a question on a test.

  I narrowed my eyes, seeing some of my own mischief on his face. “But it’ll have to be tomorrow,” I told him, pulling on my gloves. “I think I know who can decipher these runes.”

  My grandfather frowned at what he saw on my face, looking annoyed for the first time tonight. “At this hour?”

  My heart slammed against my chest with excitement.

  I smiled, my gaze settling on Poe. “Demons never sleep.”

  5

  The top floor to the Beaumont brownstone was a thousand square feet of a witch haven—a witch’s dream. Well, it was to me.

  It was a loft of sorts. One giant space to practice magic, Goetia, curses, divination, transfiguration, transmutation, and every spell you could find in a dark witch grimoire. It was large enough to even practice defensive magic and spells without damaging the neighboring homes or incidentally hitting a witch with a vanishing spell. I could conjure up ten demons, all evenly spaced in their own triangles and still have room to do a few cartwheels.

  Gramps and I had separated it into two parts; the left side was for him, and the right was all mine. That way we didn’t accidentally get our spells and potions mixed up because that would be bad.

  As it turns out, my dear old grandpa’s side of the room looked like he’d conjured up a miniature tornado. Maybe he had.

  The floor was a mess with several chairs sporting broken legs, containers and vials cracked and broken, spilling out their entrails on the floor, and everything shoved out of place. His table, where he did most of his work, had disappeared under layers and layers of books, herbs, and bowls. How he found anything in that mess was a mystery to me.

  We both had our own cauldrons. His was significantly larger than mine and could fit two witches comfortably—if you were into that kind of thing—but we both shared the colossal library that lined the entirety of the far wall. We had spell books, dark witch grimoires, necromancy arts, Goetia encyclopedias, occult books, and books on demonology that dated back to the original Beaumont family, dark witch William Beaumont who’d sailed over to the Americas in the sixteenth century.

  The windows were all stained glass, depicting the first witches battling demons. Each window told a story of how the witches defeated the demons and remained here, on this side of the world. It was a glimpse into the past, and it was my history.

  I took a deep breath. It was by far my favorite spot in the entire three-story home. Plus, there was a rooftop patio that was killer at night, with a glass of wine, staring at Manhattan’s skyline. It didn’t get any better than that.

  Poe swooped in and flew across the room with what looked like a coin hanging from his beak. He landed on a bundle of cloth nestled on the sill of the highest window. The raven coughed up a brooch with an emerald in its center, which looked very familiar, and dropped it.

  “Where did you get that brooch, Poe? Did you steal it from Vera? Why are you giving her more ammunition to hate me?”

  The raven didn’t make eye contact. “Found it. Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

  I snorted. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  Just as I crossed the room to my work area, my grandfather popped in front of me and planted his feet. I halted and narrowed my eyes at him.

  “You’re going to give me a heart attack,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “There are other ways to get information, Samantha,” said my grandfather, his features wrinkled in annoyance.

  “There isn’t when you needed that information like yesterday,” I said, moving around him headed toward my work area. “I can’t let this happen again.”

  “Again? It’s happened before?”

  “Maybe.” The angel-born hadn’t specified about the bodies. I didn’t know whether the bodies were more possessed humans the demon had left in its wake or if it was Julia, in her possessed form, doing the killing. Either way, I couldn’t let it happen again. I needed to find that demon. And I was going to kill it.

  But first I needed to figure out what those runes meant and why the demon had taken Julia’s soul. If I didn’t start getting some answers to these questions, I had a bad feeling it was going to turn around and bite me in the ass.

  Grabbing a chalk, I knelt on the floor and began to trace the Goetia triangle. To summon any demon, one must first draw the Circle of Solomon, followed by the Triangle of Solomon. I could make out the faint traces of my previous triangle I’d used three days ago as a guide, not that I needed it. I drew the demon’s unique sigil and wrote its true Latin name in the center.

  Poe cawed loudly and landed on the floor next to me, careful not to touch my chalk with his claws. He looked at the name I’d written and cocked his head. “Really? Him again?”

  I nodded. “Him again.”

  “I should have never taught you to use those books,” grumbled my grandfather.

  “It’s too late for that.” I looked over my shoulder at him. “You did because you knew I needed to learn. To protect myself. Because of what I am.”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s true.” Worry pinched his brow. “I just never imagined you’d be so proficient.”

  I gave him a smile. “I’m an excellent student.”

  A deep frown masked his face. “You shouldn’t be smiling. I didn’t mean that as a compliment. Summoning demons is a dangerous business. Very dangerous.”

  “Not if you know what you’re doing.” Like me.

  “Too many witches have perished in the name of demon.” He hung his head. “Well, just last week, Brendan Townsend summoned a beleth demon to help him with his and his wife’s luggage for the cruise to Alaska they were about to take.” He looked at me and said, “The beast ate him.”

  “Brendan was an asshole,” I said, finishing up a star outside my circle. “He liked to use mice, squirrels, and other small rodents for his experiments. I’m glad the beleth ate him.”

  My grandfather pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Samantha. You can’t mean that.”

  “I do. He got what he deserved.”

  He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “I just wanted you to have more ammunition. I needed you to be strong because of what you might face.”

  I finished drawing my circle and stood. “I am strong.” I was. Especially tonight. I was high on adrenaline. I stared at the name in the triangle. When in doubt and in need of information, find a demon and squeeze him with everything you’ve got.

  Showtime.

  He sighed and looked at me. “If your mother were alive—”
r />   “She would have done the same thing.”

  My grandfather muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch.

  I drew the energy from the circle and triangle, channeling the magic, and closed my eyes to let that dark, wild power spill into me while I focused on the incantation.

  “I conjure you, Farissael, demon of the Netherworld to be subject to the will of my soul. I bind you with unbreakable adamantine fetters,” I continued, “and I deliver you into the black chaos in perdition. I invoke you, Farissael, in the space in front of me!”

  My pulse quickened at the sudden surge of magic, sending my skin riddling with goose bumps. The feeling of strength and power was intoxicating, and I knew I had to be careful if I didn’t want to surrender to it. We all knew the witches who lost control lost their lives. That would never happen to me.

  The lights flickered and went out. A sudden wind blew around me. There was a buzzing as the lights came back on.

  And there in the triangle before me rose a figure, one every bit as solid and real as me, out of nowhere and dressed in black. A man.

  He wore black pants and a matching shirt, though open and baring a chiseled, tanned, and hairless chest. He wasn’t the typical handsome man, not as striking as the angel-born I’d seen tonight, but his features were pleasant, in a sort of classic, dark-tall-and-handsome kind of way. He had intense, dark eyes with thick lashes that would make any woman envious, and his short, black hair was styled in shining perfection.

  Farissael was a mid demon—higher than the average lesser demons but not quite up the demon hierarchy to have the same power and privileges as a Greater demon—but he still had his uses.

  “Sam, darling,” said the demon Farissael. As he began to button his shirt, I noticed a dark bruise in the shape of lips on his neck and three on his chest next to his right nipple. “You look positively scrumptious tonight. That’s twice this week you called me. If this continues, I’m going to assume you’ve finally agreed to sleep with me.” His smile turned wicked as he stopped buttoning his shirt and instead flopped it open again. “I promise you’ll be begging me not to stop,” he purred. “And then you’ll be begging me for more.”