by Lucy Auburn
As I finish the last, swooping line of the symbol, I hesitate. I could do the rest of the spell right now—a few drops of blood, a few simple words—but it’s a big one. I’ve only done a couple of siren summonings before, and Meyer was around just in case something bad happened.
Feral demons aren’t exactly known for their kindness.
Of course, any demon I summon will be under my control. But that control is only as firm as my strength over the demon. It’s not like the soul bond with my quartet; there are ways it can go wrong.
An untethered siren in the middle of a room full of phoenix, all of them weakened by its song? Not something I want to contemplate too seriously. It’s all on my shoulders if it goes wrong.
“Ms. Carpenter?” Shimmer’s voice is strangely deep considering it comes out of her diminutive, golden frame. “If you’re ready, we should get right to the issue at hand: summoning a siren.”
“Right.” Swallowing, I admit, “That’s not the part that’s throwing me off. It’s the whole controlling it once it’s here that I’m worried about.”
“Haven’t you mastered such things? Your arcane arts teacher said as much before he left.”
One of the phoenix points out, “Was that before or after he tried to murder us all?”
“Thanks Sasha,” I respond to her, “you’re a real peach.”
She snorts. “Welcome.”
Shimmer sighs, sounding very done with our shit, no doubt wishing she could go back to what it was like before the break ended. “If you’re worried about the siren, I can assure you that you have no need to be. My kind and the demonic singers have a history going back centuries. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be here to step in. After all,” she says very casually, “it wouldn’t be the first time I had to wring a siren’s neck.”
That’s a story for another day—one I desperately want to hear. Especially if it involves her biting something. There’s got to be a point to those sharp, triangular teeth, other than intimidating her students by flashing them whenever she’s annoyed with us.
Like she is right now, with me. I guess she’s been raring to upgrade her song resistance class for a long time, and I’m getting in the way of that by getting stage fright. It’s now or never, I suppose.
Taking a deep breath, I prick my finger with the little knife I’m carrying for just this purpose, and squeeze the blood out into the center of the arcane circle. The new phoenix student, Lexandria, makes a face at this, but there’s nothing I can do to make Grim magic less gross. Evil doesn’t come from ponies and butterflies.
As the blood combines with the black charcoal, I feel something wake up, an energy just beneath the surface of the fabric of reality. All it’ll take is the right words, and a demon capable of bending others’ to its will with nothing but a song will step out of the circle.
If I dither for another second I’ll chicken out completely. “Incanto daemonium.”
The black lines of the circle flash with smoke and power. Energy ripples out. I can feel my blood surge as the energy grows, fed by my abilities. Flowing upwards, the black smoke from the lines forms a dense curtain.
Out of it steps a demon.
Unlike the guys, this demon doesn’t look human. It—or she, as most sirens are—wouldn’t pass in the human world except in dim light. Or maybe in deep water, which is where sirens were said to have once reigned, mistaken for beautiful mermaids by desperate sailors eager to hear their songs.
That was before Grims captured and enslaved every last one of them, banishing them back to the outer circles of Hell—where they wait to be summoned by dark magic.
This particular siren is thin, shorter than me, almost as short as Shimmer. She has impossibly pale, ashen skin and an unnaturally pointed chin. Her hair is white and lanky, hanging down to skim the tops of her thighs, and her eyes have slitted cat-like pupils. Though she isn’t as thin as the chained siren that the demon-masked Grim used to lure me from the dorms, there’s something about her angular body, all knees, elbows, and hips, that marks her as something far from human in nature.
The sailors must have been desperate indeed to think there was something seductive about this bag of bones with a burlap sack for a dress.
“Master.” She inclines her head to me and curtsies, her tone of voice and reluctant movements writ large with mocking disdain. Trepidation slides up my spine; already, she’s fighting my bond to her, I can feel it. But she still slyly asks, “What shall I do for you today?”
“What you always do: sing.” I glance over at my fellow phoenix classmates, who are eyeing her warily, sliding slowly away from the circle. Shimmer stands between them and the demon, looking calm and in control—something I don’t feel at all. “Sing a short, five minute song to lull these phoenix so I can make them obey my will.”
“Is that all?” She smiles, her teeth nearly as sharp as Shimmer’s.
“Yes, that’s all.” Straightening my spine, I imagine for a moment that I’m Ezra in all his haughty command. “Obey me.”
My words seem to have some effect on her, because they wipe the insolent expression from her face. There’s something unnerving about the blank way she looks when she’s obeying my command, but at least she’s obeying. She opens up her mouth and lets an eerie, strange song slip from the tip of her tongue.
For a moment it almost drags me down, making me feel sleepy and giddy. But I shake it off easily; this song, unlike the one made for Black Phoenix, isn’t capable of stealing my will from me. Though I can tell from her resentful glare in my direction that she was hoping for just that, since it would free her and let her wreck rampage over the human world.
The five minutes pass in slow agony; none of the phoenix students seem to really fight her. When she cuts off the song, they come blinking out of their stupors, seemingly unaware of what’s been going on around them.
A disdainful Shimmer mutters, “A total failure. You’ll all have to practice quite a bit before we do this again. But it confirms what I suspected: recorded siren song is nothing next to the real deal. You would, all of you, be targets if a Grim were to ever truly decide to attack all the phoenix students here—nothing would stand in their way.” She nods in my direction. “You may dismiss the siren now.”
Ah, great. The part I was looking forward to least. I take all my strength of will, gathered together in my chest and pushed out through my voice, then turn towards the siren and tell her, “Leave.”
For a moment I think she won’t. There’s a sly smile on her lips that says she’s considering bucking and disobeying. But then I focus on her, letting all my energy flow out, my arms wreathed with black-and-orange fire. Glancing towards my fingers, she pales—if that’s even possible when you’re corpse white in the first place—and leaves in a cloud of smoke.
It takes me a second to realize that it was my Black Phoenix energy, and not the Grim side of me, that got her to obey. Whatever being a Black Phoenix makes me, she seems to know something, or at least fear what it means—and maybe she’s not the only demon I can summon who might have answers about what I’m capable of.
“There are so many places we could get together,” I complain, “are you really sure this is where you want to be?”
“Where else?” Lynx runs an incorporeal finger across the spines of a series of Phoenix Wars history books, a gleeful, childlike smile playing on his lips. “This library is unique. The rare books here... well, I could spend all evening in a place like this. Especially with you.”
Sighing, I lean back against the shelves and watch him. There is something to be said for the enjoyment he gets out of being here—and the joy that it gives me to watch him. Ever since he discovered I can summon him from inside the library, he’s been desperate to get back.
Just as long as I dismiss him from in here too, instead of walking out through the doors. The magical demon-proof wards on this place nearly killed him last time. Apparently, while he can come in and out in his soul form as long as I’ve already gone t
hrough the doors on my own, he can’t become corporeal in here or go through the wards without risking his life.
He also can’t touch any of the books while he’s in here, incorporeal as he is. That means I’m stuck being his hands, pulling his selected books off the shelves and turning pages for him as he hungrily devours the printed word.
“This one.” He points to a particularly thick book called The Last Phoenix War. It has a dark brown spine and gold embossed letters that have been worn by age. “It’s a little dated, but there’s this great passage. In fact it might even have... well, let’s not talk about it.”
After a second, I realize what he’s talking around—or more accurately, who he’s avoiding talking about. “Meyer. You can say it.”
Lynx groans. “Yeah, but he really puts a dampener on the mood.”
“Don’t worry about that.” I wrinkle my nose as I pull the dust-encrusted book off the shelf. “The mood was most decidedly damp already.”
“Oh really? I think I can fix that.”
“Doubtful. But I’m up for a challenge.”
“Challenge accepted. Get me that book.”
As I take the book out I feel a presence, incorporeal but tangible, brush against my spine. Like always, when one of the demons’ souls touch my body it sends shivers of pleasure across my skin. The feeling is incandescent or euphoric—or as a stereotypical TV stoner might say, totally rad. I’ve never done drugs but I imagine the warmth sliding down my spine and settling deep within me is something a little like a full-on high.
“Now...” Lynx’s voice is a low, deep purr in my ears. “Take the book over to that table over there so I can read it.”
I lick my lips. “There are other students at that table,” I point out. “They’ll notice if I talk to myself or act...” I shudder, “weird.”
“Then you’ll just have to act normal, won’t you?”
I swallow until my mouth is dry, catching onto the game. The whole campus may know about the quartet of demons bonded to me at all times, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be my little secret—even in public places like this.
Biting my lower lip, I tuck the dry and dusty history book underneath my arm and head over to the study tables. There are only a few students here, but even that is enough to make me feel the thrill of getting away with something illicit.
I try taking one of the corner chairs, far from the others, but Lynx tut-tuts and shakes his head. “In the middle.” He motions towards the table closest to the studying upperclassmen. “It doesn’t count if you try to hide away like a blushing virgin.”
My cheeks heat at his words, even though I’m far from virginal by now—and glad of it. My twentieth birthday is just a few months away, after all. But I never imagined that I’d have four sexy demons at my constant beck and call, much less that one of them would make a request of me like this.
I can feel him near me as I approach the indicated table, his presence like a warm fire in a fireplace at my back, the heat of the flames dancing near. More than once his fingers skim against the back of my arms, my neck, my hips, only to brush away just as quickly. By the time I pull a chair back and take a seat I’m already squirming in anticipation.
So when Lynx just says, “Open the book,” and hovers near me, not touching, not saying anything else, I have to bite my lower lip to keep a petulant sound of disappointment from escaping my mouth. He’s so close but so far away.
As he leans in towards me, incorporeal mouth so close to my neck, I wait for him to say something sexy. Or touch me.
“Turn the page to the table of contents.”
I do what he says, cringing at the dry, dusty paper in my hands.
“There, chapter fifteen. Turn to that page.”
I’m starting to get impatient. As I flip through the pages, I glance up towards the other students; one is looking at me, an unfamiliar blonde girl with a puzzled look on her face. It’s not until I imagine myself through her eyes that I realize I must look odd, staring up and to my right and squirming, not even glancing down at the pages before I turn them.
Even an idiot could figure out something weird is up. I’ve got to act more normal.
I force my eyes down to the open book in front of me, even though I have less than zero interest in the dry words on the open pages. But I can’t stop fidgeting, fingers drumming the table next to the book, legs pressed tight together beneath the table. I feel like I’m going to explode.
“You’re not even reading it, are you?” Lynx’s mouth skim against my ear, sending a warm wave of pleasure down the side of my neck at just the barest touch of his soul on my skin. “You have such disregard for history. Someone needs to teach you respect.”
There’s nothing I can say aloud without looking like a nut or revealing that I’ve summoned a demon’s incorporeal form into the library—something I highly doubt Beatrice Trout, head librarian, will appreciate. So I clamp down on what I want to say and try to focus my eyes on the page, playing with the paper like I’m about to turn it, utterly unaware of what any of the words say.
Because I’m too busy trying not to react to the trail of Lynx’s incorporeal fingers down my side. The sound of his voice purring, low and deep, in my ear. The way my body reacts to him, desperate to get closer, to merge us into one—or throw myself back and away from the near-overwhelming pleasure of him touching me like this.
The feeling only grows as his touch drops down lower, aiming between my thighs, making me bite my lower lip so hard that pain meets pleasure head-on.
“Turn the page.”
I have to blink back to consciousness and swallow a groan just to understand his words. It takes me a moment—a moment in which Lynx pulls his touch back from my abdomen and places his hand over the back of mine, fingers guiding mine.
He repeats himself. “Turn the page, Dani. Or I won’t touch you again.”
Then he pulls back completely, leaving me so wanting that I can’t help the little whimper that escapes my lips this time. It gets me a weird look from the blonde girl and another student, a kid in glasses I recognize from yawn-worthy Shifter History class, but I don’t care anymore if I look strange.
I just want him to touch me again.
So I turn the page, and he does.
“Good girl.” It’s hard not to feel embarrassed about what his voice does to me, but I can’t stop it. I’m helpless to the press of his lips on my ear, the brush of his fingers against my abdomen and dipping lower. “One page, one touch. Until the chapter is through.”
There are over twenty pages in this chapter.
It’s going to be a long evening of studying.
Chapter 22
Wednesday, 11:00 AM: Phoenix History with Ocean Johnson
Yet another depressing hour listening to all the ways in which phoenix like me have been strung up, eviscerated, and murdered, ribs cracked open and hearts stolen more often than not. They’ve hunted us for sport, kidnapped and tortured us to make our hearts more “tender” because they thought that would increase their power, and cut us open to study us.
Today we’re concentrating on the Salem Witch Trials, which some in the supernatural world think might be somehow connected to real life supernaturals—including a phoenix whose touch could drive men mad, yet another elusive type called the Blue Phoenix. Some historians have found signs of them, while others claim they’re all a myth.
Ocean seems particularly worked up about this bit of history, which is unusual for him. Most of the time he’s sure and steady.
Personally, I’m just glad we’re not talking about the late era of the Phoenix Wars. Even just hearing the words from the book Lynx had me read while he touched me would be enough to make me squirm.
“This calls into question, though, what were Blue Phoenix before they died and came back to life? Some say mages, but Red Phoenix are already proof that mages, once turned into phoenix, have their power increased. So they would be able to cast magic, not drive men mad with their touch.” He
pauses, as if drawing out a mystery. “Others still say that hedge witches, who forcefully draw their arcane magic from the world around them, might turn into phoenix. That’s where this particular theory comes from: it’s theorized that some of the witches hung in Salem returned to life and enacted revenge on those who killed them for witchcraft, driving them mad with their touch. Which would certainly be a fitting revenge.”
It’s a relief when the bell signaling the end of classes rings, letting all the students out. But just as I’m grabbing my books and notes to rush out the door, I hear, “Dani. Stay back for a bit to talk to me.”
My stomach feels like it’s yawning wide in hunger. This delay will mean I get stuck with a spot in the back of the line at lunch, shaving at least five to even ten minutes off the hour and costing me the best mashed potatoes, a Wednesday staple. I rock on my toes and glance up at the clock as Ocean closes the door behind the rest of the students and paces back to his desk.
“This’ll only take a minute.” Ocean motions me forward, and I reluctantly join him at his desk. “I found something in one of my trips out of town that might be of interest to you. It’s an old book, poorly shelved at a branch of the New York Public Library—they thought they had a piece of fiction on their hands. In reality it’s a bit of a memoir.”
I stare at him as he pulls the book out of his desk, looking as pleased and excited as Lynx buried in a pile of books. He holds out to me expectantly, clearly hoping I’ll be just as excited. “Thank... you?”
I feel like I’m accepting a dead mouse from a very proud cat.
“It’s about martyred phoenix,” he explains as I take the book, running my fingers over the embossed cover. Tales of Phoenixes Writ with Tragedy. It really does look like a piece of fiction; the painted phoenix on the front only emphasizes that impression. “You see, quite a few old phoenix were viewed as saints or tragic figures in old religions, especially Catholicism and various pagan sects. Turning paper into gold and getting killed for it—a very macabre story to any human.”