Spells & Ashes

by Kim Richardson

  The way the Greater demon had smiled at me had me on edge, like a challenge. He had mocked me, thinking I could never beat him. Perhaps he knew I couldn’t.

  My hatred for the demon had me burning up like a fever. My body broke into a sweat, and I had to get up to take a cold shower. But it did nothing to dampen my mood. I was mad as hell.

  I had no clue what the demon wanted. I didn’t even have a name. And yet I knew I’d not seen the last of the Greater demon. He would be back. I’d bet my life on it.

  I spent most of the day going over what happened in my head. Why had the Greater demon taken Julia’s soul? Was it part of the ritual? Faris hadn’t been a giant help, but he’d confirmed my suspicions and now I knew who to ask for more information.

  Only one witch could decipher those symbols—Evanora Crow.

  Evanora Crow was as old as dirt and a skilled dark witch, probably the most powerful dark witch on the entire North American continent. Yes, her methods were questionable, but that’s one of the things that set her apart. She feared nothing. In my book, she was a badass witch.

  She was also my maternal great-aunt and lived just down the street from me.

  After a quick bite from my veggie pizza, I pulled my messenger bag over my head and started out in search of my aunt; Poe perched comfortably on my shoulder. My grandfather was nowhere in sight, and that had me worried. I’d checked all three floors of the house, but no gramps. He’d left early in the morning and hadn’t been back since. He was probably up to some mischief. Damn that old man. He was going to get himself into trouble again.

  I locked the front door and stepped off the front steps onto the walkway.

  “Hi, Vera,” I told the redheaded witch as she stood up from her front garden at the sound of me exiting, her hands covered in black earth with a garden shovel on the ground next to her.

  Her face was her usual large frown accompanied by an ugly pinched mouth. The woman barely had any lips, so it was just a weird slice under her large nose. The bonus was how round her eyes were at the sight of me. Did I just hear her hissing?

  I smiled and waved at her with my fingers. I didn’t know why I bothered being so nice to her. If it weren’t for my grandfather asking me to be, I would have told her to go screw herself a long time ago. I turned and walked away.

  “I saw a man leaving your house last night,” came Vera’s accusing tone, which made me freeze mid step.

  Oh.

  Shit.

  “A man leaving my house?” I repeated, playing dumb though my heart was slamming so hard against my chest I was sure Vera could hear it. Damn. Damn. Damn. This was bad. Had she been spying on me? If she knew Faris was a demon, I was in deep shit.

  Poe leaned toward my ear and whispered, “You want me to take care of her?”

  “It’s fine,” I whispered back, keeping my face neutral.

  Vera’s eyes flicked to Poe and back to me again. “Don’t patronize me,” accused the witch, the slit to her eyes giving her a catlike look. She pressed her dirty hands on her hips. “A man left your house at one in the morning. And he wasn’t a witch.”

  I swallowed. “Really? And how would you know that?” Damn, Faris. What did you do?

  Vera smiled without warmth. “I pride myself in knowing every young, bachelor, male witch, white or dark, in the city. He’s not one of us.”

  Okay, her keeping tabs on single male witches was creepier than her spying on me. Still, I would have expected Faris to use some sort of demon glamour to hide his true scent from the witches. Damn it. This was getting worse by the second. I thought about just making a run for it, but that would look odd, not to mention a little stupid.

  Mind racing, I forced my face to go blank and my breathing to be slow and even. I’d no doubt in my mind Vera could smell fear too.

  The witch’s face was riddled with contempt. “He’s not a witch. His scent was different.”

  Thank the cauldron. Faris had somehow masked his scent. He wasn’t as stupid as I thought.

  “He’s human. Isn’t he?” she added, with a triumphant tone to her voice, like she’d discovered my deepest secret. I resisted the urge to whack her with her garden shovel. Gramps wouldn’t like that. It would make a mess.

  It wasn’t illegal to fraternize with humans, just very unlikely. I breathed easier. She had no idea Faris was a demon.

  My turn. “Are you spying on me? You dirty, old woman.”

  Vera’s mouth dropped open, her face turning a shade of red to match her hair. “How dare you—”

  “How dare you,” I said, my voice rising as I resisted the urge to curse her. “Who comes and goes in my own house is my own business.” Why am I even arguing with this old witch?

  A puff of annoyance came off of Vera. “It is my business when it affects the community.”

  I knew she meant the community of witches. You hear about these kinds of situations in small towns all the time, everybody knowing everybody else’s business. It’s awesome. Mystic Quarter was no better. It was a small town of sorts, a tiny, secret community in Manhattan. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

  “What’s it to you, anyway?” Okay, so I was being snappy, but she was looking at me like she was just about to spit in my face, and I hadn’t done anything. Well, not to her. Vera knew how to push my buttons, and right now, she’d pushed all of them.

  The witch pinched her face. “Humans have no business mixing here. We have enough problems with the other half-breeds. How could you bring that man here? The very presence of a human in Mystic Quarter is a direct insult to our community. Mark my words. They will hear about this.”

  “Fantastic,” I mumbled, wondering if her front garden was large enough to bury her body.

  “That’s it. I’m taking her pearl necklace next.” Poe’s low voice drifted in my ear, his claws pinching my shoulders and echoing my anger.

  Vera’s eyes snapped to the raven and she glowered. “I saw your raven outside my window yesterday. And now my family brooch is missing.”

  I smiled thinly. “Are you accusing Poe of stealing? Do you have proof?” The proof was upstairs on the third floor.

  “It’s why ravens don’t make good familiars,” said the witch, her expression still pinched. “They’re too wild. Too unpredictable.”

  “Nothing wrong with being unpredictable,” remarked Poe, loudly enough for Vera to hear. “Keeps Sam on her toes.”

  Vera’s face twisted in an ugly grimace. “Keep your familiar on a leash.”

  “He’s a bird.” I nearly laughed. “That’s not likely to happen.”

  Vera snarled, showing teeth. “What does your grandfather think of all this?” she added. “Does he know what you’re up to? Does he know human men come and go in the middle of the night?”

  Damn. She just wouldn’t let it go. “Okay. You caught me. I used him for sex, if you must know. He’s great. Best lay I’ve had all year. Takes his time, you know. Makes sure I’m satisfied. You know what I mean?” Yup. That shut her up.

  Vera let out a series of huffs and puffs, her face reddening.

  “Getting laid feels good. You should try it sometime.”

  I turned and left her with her mouth hanging open in an expression like I just whacked her with her shovel.

  My mood was dark and furious as a winter storm. My steps were louder than usual with my stride wide like a soldier’s. I wanted to hurt something. Preferably Vera’s face. Preferably with her shovel.

  That’s it. I’m never letting Faris out again. That had been way too close.

  At the corner of Twilight Avenue, I crossed the street toward a strip of haphazard, mismatched buildings. They had lost their architectural integrity with all the additions over the years, making it look like the builder had lost his mind in the middle of construction. I made for a three-story, brown-brick building that had looked like mine, once upon a time, but now looked more like it had gone through a few hurricanes. Too much dark magic could do that to buildings. Payment had to come from
somewhere when just a witch wasn’t enough. Dark drapes hung over the first-floor windows, and a sign in big bold letters over the front door proclaimed:

  EVANORA CROW. DARK WITCH EXTRAORDINAIRE.

  SPECIALIST IN THE DARK ARTS.

  MANAGEMENT.

  My boots slapped on the asphalt and I stepped up to the front cement steps.

  “I just remembered I have something to do,” informed Poe, a slight edge to his voice.

  “Now?” I turned to look at the raven.

  He turned his head away, rolling his shoulders as though preparing himself for flight. “Yup. Now. It’s important.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. “Don’t do it.”

  The raven looked back at me. He blinked and said, “Do what?”

  “You know what,” I told him. “I know you, Poe. You’re going to go over to Vera’s and do something stupid. She’s not worth it. Just forget about it, okay?”

  Poe raised a brow, his beady eyes gleaming. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Poe,” I begged. “Don’t.”

  The raven took off, his large wings beating. The gust lifted my hair and sent a strand into my mouth.

  “I’ll be back soon,” called the raven. He turned his head and let out mocking caws of laughter as he flew higher and away, circling around a clearing before disappearing behind a building.

  Vera was a nosy, old witch. It was no secret that I had no love for her. But I hated that she’d been right about one thing. Poe was wild.

  Damn that bird.

  Jaw gritted, I wound my long, dark hair into a messy bun with my spare elastic. Then, without knocking, I reached out, pulled the door open, and went inside.

  A sudden, cold tingle of dark magic energy rippled over my skin, making it riddle in goose bumps. Yup, she was home.

  “Aunt Evanora?” I called as I stepped through.

  I wrinkled my nose at the scent of incense and candles. A musty smell of old rugs hung heavily in the air. Hefty, black drapes hung over the two front windows, and soft, yellow light spilled from the six candles splayed above a counter on the far right. It was only half past six in the evening, but inside the shop it felt like it was eleven at night.

  Cobwebs stretched out in the small shop. Shelves and racks lined the walls, packed with an assortment of jars with unidentifiable objects, all covered in a thin layer of dust. The usual stuff: Tarot cards, Ouija boards, candles, animal bones, crystal balls, pendulums, chalk, scrying mirrors, every size of cauldron, wands, and every book of spells you could imagine. A glass cabinet with an assortment of skulls, human and animal, bloodstained daggers and bolines, and a selection of glass eyes, stood in the corner. Masks with distorted human faces, looking disturbingly as though made of dry flesh, stared down from the walls as though to scare off intruders. Rusted spiked and sharp instruments hung from the ceiling like decorations.

  A flutter of excitement rushed through me. It was always a joy stepping into my aunt’s shop. There was always something new and deliciously, magically dark delivered to her shop once a week.

  I walked up to her shelf, which proclaimed with a large banner stretched across the upper wall: FRESH OFF THE CAULDRON! and searched for my prize.

  A variety of objects lay before my eyes: A Spell-Casting Kit for the Up-and-Coming Witch; Wynona Craven’s Fabulous Wart-Begone Cream; No-Nonsense Love Potions in tiny, pink vials, in the shape of hearts; Fast & Furious Fat-Burning Elixir (very popular among us witches); a couple of transmutation vials (drink at your own risk!); and six bags of what looked like tiny pebbles. I read the label. Instant Bubble Protection. Interesting. Never used one of those before.

  The real prize was the Gypsy No. 5 Skin So Soft Healing Balm. This was it—what I’d been waiting for—for six months. My heart thumped as I snatched it up. It had to work this time.

  With the healing balm in my hand, I grabbed two bags of those pebbles and one Fast & Furious Fat-Burning Elixir. No judging.

  With my new merchandise in my hands, excitement filled me as I crossed the room toward the back of the shop.

  The thick, metallic odor of blood was heavy in the air mixed in with the faint stench of rot. My aunt was definitely working magic.

  I pushed aside a curtain door and stepped into the back room—my aunt’s magic lab, if you will—where she performed most of her spells, enchantments, and her demon conjuring. The back room was even smaller than the shop, maybe half its size.

  An old woman, bent with age, looked up at me as I entered. There was a powerful quality to her. Wisps of white hair fell loosely around her face, her arms and legs hung weakly, and she was painfully thin. Her small eyes were lost in the heavy wrinkles, but I could make out one, milky-white eye rolling around in its socket until it focused on me.

  I heard a moan, and then I knew why the air had such a strong smell of blood. A blood circle marked the wood floor, along with burning candles and the remains of three dead chickens.

  And in the middle of the blood circle, his mouth stuffed with a dirty cloth, arms and legs bound, was a young man.

  “Oh, shit,” I breathed.

  7

  “Who’s the guy?” I asked as I crossed the room and came closer for a better look. He was in his early thirties and built like a wrestler with shoulder muscles that melted into his neck. His thick build and faint scent of wet dog was all I needed. Werewolf.

  The old woman lifted her chin haughtily and pointed a gnarled finger at him. “He stole a strength charm from Evanora. Evanora doesn’t take kindly to thieves.” Yes, my aunt referred to herself in the third person. She was that eccentric.

  I snorted, my eyes back on the werewolf. “You dumb bastard. Don’t you know you can’t steal from witches? That you’ll always be found out?” A faint orange mist shadowed above the werewolf, the thief-indicator spell.

  “And in her shop, no less,” I added, pursing my lips. “It’s almost as though you wanted to get caught.” Man, he made it way too easy. Of all the other witch shops in the district, this werewolf had to pick my aunt’s, the most powerful dark witch in Mystic Quarter and the most unforgiving. Dumbass.

  His eyes widened, and a sound came from his gag as he tried to form unintelligible words.

  I leaned over him. “Sorry? What was that? I don’t speak dumbass.” I had no sympathy for thieves, especially those who took advantage of old ladies who lived on their own. I had to restrain myself from kicking him.

  “Everything in here is spelled. Can’t you read?” I said pointing to the large sign hanging by the front door:

  ALL THIEVES WILL BE CURSED! STEAL AT YOUR OWN RISK!

  “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sacrifice your penis to Mataba, a sex demoness.” There was no such demoness, but he didn’t have to know.

  The werewolf’s face paled, and I swear I saw tears in his eyes. Idiot. Why were men so sensitive when it came to their penises? I stepped over the werewolf and stood by my aunt. “How much for these?” I asked as I showed her my newly acquired items in my hands.

  Evanora’s milky-white eye fixed on my hands. “Fifty dollars.”

  “What?” I cried, incredulous, realizing that she could make up any price she wanted since there were no price tags on them. “I’m your niece. What happened to family discounts?”

  “Fifty dollars,” repeated the old witch, her face peacefully blank.

  I frowned. “I’ll give you twenty.”

  “Deal.”

  I pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and gave it to her. The old witch snatched it and stuffed it into some secret pocket inside her gown. “The Gypsy Balm won’t work.”

  “I have to try.”

  My aunt made a disapproving sound in her throat and turned her attention back on her prisoner.

  “Aunt Evanora. You’ve got a minute?” I asked, slipping my new purchases into my messenger bag. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Evanora’s face twitched and pulled. To anyone else it would look like a grimace, but I knew this was
my aunt’s smile. “What is it you want, Samantha? Be quick about it,” she said, her milky-white eye angled toward her captive. “Evanora has work to do.” The werewolf squirmed, and I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t start laughing. Would she kill him? I wasn’t sure. Would she sacrifice some of his most precious pieces to a demon? Probably.

  I yanked out my phone and showed my aunt the images. “What do you make of these?”

  Evanora leaned forward until her nose practically grazed my phone. “Mesopotamian,” she answered, and pulled back. “The old languages.” One point for Faris.

  “There’re two symbols carved on her wrists. Do you recognize them?” I edged my phone closer to her for a better look.

  My aunt shook her head.

  “And the ritual? What does it all mean?” I asked, flipping through the images. My heart clenched when I saw Julia’s body in one of the pictures.

  My aunt’s jaw moved like she was gnawing on food. “Hmmm. A ceremony. A ritual to summon a powerful demon. One who will seek death and destruction upon the world. One that will claim our world as its own.”

  I let out a breath. “Just great.”

  “Samantha,” began my aunt, and I recognized that tone in her voice, the one right before she was about to tell me not to do something. “What have you not told Evanora? What happened to the human girl?”

  I told her about my exorcism gone wrong, watching her face for a reaction but getting none. Something didn’t make sense. “You said this is a ceremony to summon a powerful demon. But the one doing the ritual was one—a Greater demon. I know because I would have been able to banish him otherwise. So why would a Greater demon summon another Greater demon? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Evanora’s eyes narrowed. “There are more powerful and more dangerous monsters in the Netherworld, fouler and more evil than your mere Greater demons.”

  I knew by the tone of her voice that she’d had firsthand experience in the matter. “Like what?” I asked. “An archdemon? Something else? Can you tell which one by looking at those symbols? Or can you tell me why it took her soul?”

  Evanora made a sound in her throat. “Evanora will need time to do a proper translation of the texts. There’s paper on the table,” she ordered, a twisted finger pointing.