“Oh.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “There are rumors—or legends, I should say, about the Twelfth House. Some say Vh’alyir is the most powerful, while others say it’s a uselessly weak House. One legend says the House is cursed.”
I tensed. “Cursed?”
“I don’t know what it means. The answers are probably in the grimoire.”
My spine stiffened even more. I braced myself. “Where is the grimoire?”
He gazed at me, and I didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Didn’t cower.
“Here,” he replied quietly. “I have it here. Are you sure, Robin?”
I had to unlock my jaw to speak. “Sure about what?”
“That you’re ready for it.”
“It’s mine.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But are you ready to protect it? I read your mother’s letter—the whole letter she wrote for you. Do you understand what she meant when she said she left you unprepared?”
I pressed my palms against my thighs. “I haven’t learned much magic.”
“That was the mistake she regretted most. She told me in our phone call … she’d realized abandoning all magic had been the wrong choice. Obscurity could only protect them until it failed, and once it did, she—and you—had no skills to protect yourselves. That’s why she needed my help.”
Was I ready to take on this burden? Was I ready to hold the history, the origin, of Demonica in my hands and protect it with my life? Was I ready to sacrifice my future and my dreams to safeguard a book?
“Bring me the grimoire.”
Uncle Jack pushed to his feet. He disappeared down a short hall. A door opened and his footsteps thumped down a flight of stairs. A long minute passed, then he reappeared, a flat metal box in his hands.
I’d seen that box before. Seen it in my mother’s office on the rare occasions she would bring the grimoire home to work on the translation for a few precious days.
He set the box on my lap. “The spell on it will only respond to sorcerers of our bloodline. The incantation is ‘Egeirai, angizontos tou Athanou, lytheti.’”
I pressed my hand to the box and repeated the Ancient Greek command. “Egeirai, angizontos tou Athanou, lytheti.”
White runes blazed across every inch of the steel. Swallowing against my racing pulse, I lifted the lid. Brown paper covered the precious package within, and I unwrapped it with gentle care, my hands surprisingly steady. The crinkling sheath opened and I gazed down upon the Athanas Grimoire. My mother’s treasure.
The leather was dark and worn, the stitching neat but the threads stained. In places, it had been carefully repaired with bright, sturdy stitches. A brass buckle on the front cover held an encircling strap in place, binding the covers shut. Crisp, modern paper poked out the top, the edge of my mother’s handwriting visible on the topmost page.
“I don’t know where she kept her translation work,” Uncle Jack murmured. “There are only a few pages in there.”
I touched the buttery smooth cover, the ancient leather webbed with tiny cracks. The Athanas Grimoire. It was mine … almost mine. Setting the box aside, I rose to my feet with the grimoire cradled in my hands. My mind turned inward.
Zylas? Please come out?
Uncle Jack gasped when the infernus on my chest lit up. Crimson light spilled from it and pooled upward. The demon took form, glowing eyes staring down at me, cold and unforgiving.
Shoving out of his chair, Uncle Jack gawked with a mixture of amazement and terror. Neither Zylas nor I looked away from each other, ignoring my uncle’s reaction. My fingers tightened on the grimoire and I drew in a deep breath. Exhale. Inhale again. Steady.
I lifted the grimoire. Extended it. Held it in the space between me and the demon.
Zylas. His name formed in my mind, clear and strong. This is the grimoire. It is the thing I want most. It’s the most important thing to me in the entire world.
He listened to my silent words, unmoving, expressionless.
I was wrong to hold the thing you want most against you. I promised to send you home. With this, I think I can do that. Without it, I’ll still find a way. No matter what, no matter what you do or don’t do, I will. I promise.
“What is she doing?” Uncle Jack whispered.
Zylas held my stare, waiting.
Doubt shivered through me, but I clamped it down. I’d broken the fragile trust between us, but more than that, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever really trusted him. How much faith had I put in the uncertain contract that bound him to protect me, and how much had I put in him?
He had admitted his fears to me—his secret worry that I might want him dead—but in what ways had I shown him my trust?
“I want to give this to you,” I whispered. “Until I send you home, it belongs to you. That way, we each have power over the other’s most precious desire. When I send you home, you can give it back to me.”
His tail slid slowly across the floor as he considered my words. He reached up, but his hand passed over the grimoire and instead settled on top of my head. His fingers curled into my hair, his gaze breaking from mine to sweep across the room.
He pulled me into his chest, squashing the ancient grimoire between us. As I squeaked in dismay, his husky voice whispered above my head, almost too quiet to hear.
“Drādah, I smell fresh blood.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cold fear shot through my gut—then Zylas threw me backward.
I sailed through the air and crashed into Amalia, knocking her to the floor. Zylas was already whirling as the windows behind him exploded into shimmering shards. Three men in dark clothes leaped into the cabin, their fingers extending into long claws and mouths gaping hungrily.
Fangs exposed. Black-and-white eyes marked with bright red rings.
The vampires charged Zylas and he leaped to meet them. Crimson magic spiraled up his arms and glowing talons extended from his fingers. He ducked a vampire’s grabbing hands, rammed another with his shoulder, and slashed his claws across the third’s stomach.
Blood spilled down the vamp’s front but he scarcely stumbled. Blurring with speed, the vampires encircled Zylas. He spun through them, grace and power. They were fast and strong, but he was experienced.
Another slashing exchange. Two vampires flew back, thrown by powerful blows, and Zylas rammed his talons into the chest of the third, stopping the creature’s heart. He ripped his talons out and whirled, but not toward the remaining vampires.
Toward me.
A blur interrupted my line of sight. The new vampire, attacking from my left, snatched at the grimoire and I frantically twisted away. His claws caught on my infernus chain. Sharp pain cut into my neck, then the chain snapped.
Zylas lunged for my attacker and the vampire darted out of reach. A flash of motion behind him.
Between one instant and the next, a man appeared. Arms clamped around Zylas. A hand seized his jaw and twisted his head sideways.
The vampire bit into Zylas’s neck.
As a horrified scream rang through my head, someone grabbed me and hauled me backward—Amalia, her breath coming in fearful pants. She dragged me away from the vampire and Zylas.
Daimon, hesychaze! I silently shouted.
Zylas didn’t ignite into a crimson glow. The magic on his hands dissolved, his body limp in his assailant’s hold, his eyes darkening by the second. I looked down. My new artifact was tangled on the broken chain of my infernus, still hanging off my neck, but the silver pendant was missing.
The vampire pulled his fangs from Zylas’s neck and lifted his head.
Vasilii, the vampires’ leader. As his slow gaze moved across me, I met his eyes. They weren’t white on black like the other vampires. They were solid, unbroken black.
Red light flared—but not Zylas’s magic. The power leaped from the infernus around Uncle Jack’s neck. His demon materialized beside him, towering at eight feet tall with scaled patches over its arms and legs. A long tail hung, unmoving, behind it, its st
are eerily blank in an apelike face crowned by four long horns.
As the demon turned with robotic steps to face the vampires, Uncle Jack swung his rifle toward Vasilii.
“No!” I cried, lunging forward. I shoved the gun sideways.
Uncle Jack shouldered me out of the way and raised the gun again, pointing it at the vampire’s heart—except the vampire was holding Zylas in front of him, heart over heart. To kill the vampire, Uncle Jack would have to shoot the rifle’s unstoppable bullet right through Zylas.
Vasilii glanced dismissively at Uncle Jack before returning his attention to me. His tongue slipped between his thin lips and licked at the blood smearing his mouth.
“Exquisite,” he rasped. “Rich with power and … superbly fresh. Her infernus?”
Another vampire moved, and Uncle Jack jerked his rifle as though unsure who to aim at. The vampire stooped, picked something off the floor, and handed it to Vasilii. Rejoining the vampire lord’s other two lackeys, who waited off to one side, he resumed staring at Zylas’s bleeding neck with ravenous hunger.
Vasilii examined the small object—my infernus—then tucked it in his pocket. Smiling faintly, he slid a hand across Zylas’s shoulder. A twist of his fingers, a quiet tear, and Zylas’s small armor plate fell, its straps severed. It hit the floor with a clang, leaving the demon’s chest exposed.
Vasilii turned his inky eyes on Uncle Jack, silently daring the man to shoot.
Panic screamed through my head. Holding Uncle Jack’s rifle with one hand, I clutched the grimoire to my chest. “Let my demon go.”
“An interesting proposition,” Vasilii replied in his dry monotone.
I shivered involuntarily. My gaze darted to Zylas, lifeless and unmoving, with Vasilii’s arm curled around his unprotected chest, thin fingers gripping the demon’s throat.
“Robin,” Uncle Jack growled, “get your hand off the gun. A shot through the heart will kill him.”
“And my demon too!”
“You can summon another demon,” he snapped.
Vasilii’s black eyes stared right through me. “Robin Page, daughter of Sarah Page, owner of the Athanas Grimoire. Would you like to bargain?”
Tension burned in my muscles. “Why would I trust a vampire’s word?”
“I am not a vampire.” The slightest smile. “I am … as you call us … a fae.”
That took a moment to sink in. “But fae spirits create vampires by infecting humans, so …”
“I am not as they are,” he countered, each sound measured carefully in his toneless voice. “They are lowly, bodiless shades, ruled by their basest nature, and I am … how to explain so you might understand?” He paused thoughtfully. “I am to my brethren as the wolf is to the flies that crawl upon its kill.”
Not the best analogy, but it got his point across.
“I prefer my kin—other fae—as my quarries, but I enjoy the power I gain from these … demons.” He pulled Zylas’s head back, the wound on his neck reopening with another trickle of dark blood. “Now, Robin Page, that you know I am of honor, I ask again: Would you like to bargain?”
Fae. I didn’t know enough about fae for this. I’d read about them, that bargaining and exchanges were part of their mysterious culture, similar to negotiating with a demon, but I had no idea what the rules were. They were known for keeping their word, weren’t they? But I suspected Vasilii, whatever he was, might be a far less trustworthy darkfae.
“What’s your offer?” I asked cautiously.
“The grimoire. I will claim it regardless, but should it be damaged …” His black eyes bored into me. “Give me the grimoire, Robin Page, and I will release your demon to you, no further harm inflicted.”
The rifle twitched as Uncle Jack tried to pull it out from under my hand. Amalia stood rigid on my other side, her gaze darting from the three vampires to Vasilii to Uncle Jack’s unmoving demon as though calculating our odds.
“Why do you want the grimoire?” I asked, my voice cracking with suppressed panic. “What use would a fae have for it?”
“A trade, Robin Page. An item of value to be exchanged for that of equal value.” He twisted Zylas’s neck a little further, threatening to break it. “I will answer no more questions. My offer is given. Do you agree?”
I swallowed hard. Vasilii was our greatest threat, but even a super-speed fae wasn’t as fast as a bullet from fifteen feet away. Uncle Jack’s demon, with its armored skin and large size, could probably kill the remaining vampires—or buy us enough time to run to the car and escape.
All we had to do was sacrifice Zylas.
One shot. Vasilii and Zylas would both die, and Uncle Jack, Amalia, and I could escape. The grimoire would be safe. I could go home, no longer a Demonica mythic, no longer in danger of being found out as an illegal contractor. Zora could report me to the MPD and it wouldn’t matter. I would have no demon for them to investigate.
Or I could give up the grimoire and save Zylas’s life.
I looked down at the grimoire pressed to my chest, to my heart. My mother’s treasure. The origin of Demonica. Priceless, precious, dangerous—but just a book. How could I trade a life for a book?
Zylas …
Eyes burning, I drew in a shaky breath—and a memory of his husky voice whispered, Be smarter, drādah.
Just yesterday, alone in a cramped alley. I could almost feel his heat behind me, his hand on my shoulder as he murmured in my ear. You must always be looking everywhere.
I pulled my gaze off Vasilii’s unnerving eyes for the first time. The three waiting vampires stood near the kitchen. I skimmed across the room, picking out the shadowy corners, glancing across the broken windows, whisking past the large raised deck outside—
A shape ducked backward out of sight, hidden around the corner just outside the window. Another vampire outside. Why would that one be outside?
Unless there was more than one. Unless more vampires were positioned to ambush us.
Be smarter, Zylas had told me. If he were standing behind me right now, as he had in that alley, I knew what he would whisper in my ear. Vasilii had more vampires waiting out of sight. He wasn’t bargaining with us because we had any chance of survival. He wanted to secure the grimoire before he killed us.
Raising my chin, I looked into Vasilii’s black eyes. “I accept your offer.”
Amalia gasped. Uncle Jack’s grip on the rifle spasmed, a hoarse groan catching in his throat.
Vasilii’s lips formed that faint, emotionless smile. “Bring me the grimoire.”
I tightened my hand on the barrel and turned, giving my uncle the most meaningful stare I could manage. Releasing the rifle, I hastily knotted my broken infernus chain, then slowly approached the fae. Vasilii waited, his arm hooked around Zylas, slender hand gripping the lifeless demon’s throat.
One long step away from them, I stopped. Vasilii stared unblinkingly into my eyes as he extended his other hand, fingers spread.
My heart slammed into my ribs as though it were trying to ram through me and grab onto the grimoire. I placed the book in the fae’s waiting hand. He curled his fingers over the cover, his expression faintly pleased.
He released Zylas. The demon crumpled—and I dove to the floor with him.
The rifle went off with an earsplitting bang. Vasilii jerked backward. Dead center in his chest, a dark hole the size of a golf ball had shredded his shirt. Sprawled on the floor beside Zylas’s prone form, I waited for the fae to collapse.
Grimoire cradled in one hand, Vasilii lightly touched his chest as though surprised by the wound. A small smile curved his lips.
He wasn’t falling. He wasn’t dying. He’d been shot in the heart with a bullet big enough to kill a bull moose. Why wasn’t he dead?
Uncle Jack clutched the rifle, his hands shaking. Amalia stood beside him, her face stamped with horrified disbelief.
Still smiling, Vasilii reached for me.
“Ori eruptum impello!” I screamed.
Silvery light bur
st from the artifact around my neck. The dome rushed outward, hurling Vasilii away, along with two kitchen chairs and the other vampires. The sofa flipped onto its face with a muffled thud. Only Zylas, safe with my hands on him, was unaffected.
The three vampires crashed down, but Vasilii landed neatly on his feet, unhampered by the hole in his chest. He stroked the grimoire as though to ensure it was undamaged, then turned. He stepped over the windowsill, broken glass grinding under his shoes, and ambled into the blowing snow.
Ravenous eyes glowing, his minions advanced on us to clean up the loose ends while their master whisked away the precious grimoire.
The precious grimoire I had handed to him. What kind of monster could survive a shot through the heart?
My hands tightened on Zylas’s shoulders, but he didn’t stir. The vampires prowled closer, drool running down their chins as they homed in on the helpless demon and his intoxicating blood.
A loud, metallic clack. The vampires looked up.
Uncle Jack pushed his rifle’s bolt forward and pulled the trigger. The ear-rupturing bang exploded again and the bullet tore through two vampires, taking them both out with one shot. As they keeled over, Uncle Jack threw the rifle aside and grasped his infernus. His demon lumbered forward, powerful arms swinging. The remaining vampire bared his fangs and took a cautious step backward.
But he wasn’t alone. Glass crunching, the vampires who’d been lurking outside, hidden from view, stepped over the windowsills—four of them, their eerie eyes staring and mouths curved eagerly. One laughed at the sight of our helpless group.
Despair closed over me. Zylas?
Uncle Jack sent his demon charging at the vampires. He and Amalia backed toward the door, calling for me, but I knew it was pointless. There were too many and they were too fast.
I heaved Zylas’s limp form onto his back. His dark eyes were empty, but his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Vasilii’s bite had sent the demon into a coma-like state.
Three of the vampires leaped on Uncle Jack’s massive but slow demon, and the other two advanced on the father and daughter. Amalia thrust out a flashcard and yelled an incantation, but the vampire barely stumbled from the cantrip. Uncle Jack gripped his infernus. His demon turned, called toward its master, but the three vampires dragged it to a halt.
Slaying Monsters for the Feeble: The Guild Codex: Demonized / Two Page 23