Page 173 of Bedeviled

As soon as it hits him, his muscles stiffen, and he falls back. The creature hits the ground like a plank of wood, and there he remains. But even that spell I cannot trust to hold.

Spinning back to the bookshelf, I pull on a purple clothbound spine of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. A latch clicks, and the bookshelf swings out, revealing my secret library.

While Nero slips in, I hear a shout behind me.

“Over here! She’s over here⁠—”

I throw another ball of magic at the incoming demon, then slip inside, pulling the door tightly shut behind me.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I can hear their muffled voices on the other side of the shelf.

Lifting a hand, I incant in Sarmatian. “Seal this door. No demons and no enemies shall cross this threshold.”

I drop my hand, and with a shudder, I back up.

Thump.

I grab onto the nearest bookshelf as the walls shake.

Thump.

The hits keep coming to the bookshelf as they try to break their way into the library. And by the muffled sounds of it, more demons are gathering each moment to help.

That terrifying realization has me moving again.

As far as exit strategies go, holing up in a library is a terrible one. Or at least it would be if I were an regular human.

“C’mon, Nero,” I command, heading for the spiral staircase as the bangs get louder. Any moment, I expect the ward to give way. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

My normally surly familiar follows me obediently as we head to the top floor of the library.

I exhale my relief when my eyes land on the empty middle expanse of the room.

Well, nearly empty.

Spread out before the massive, square paned window is a circular tufted rug.

I move over to it, Nero following closely. Right in the middle of the rug, I kneel, patting the space beside me.

“Lie down right here,” I command.

Nero’s movements are languid as he does so, but it’s clear my panther is tense. His tail flicks restlessly, and his muscles are taut.

“It’s alright,” I say softly, “I have a plan.”

I press my palms to the soft material beneath us, feeling how the fibers tickle my skin.

Downstairs, I hear the groan, then shriek of hinges twisting and wood snapping. The ward must’ve fallen apart.

I force myself to refocus my attention on the task at hand. I haven’t spent enough time studying Middle Eastern and East Asian magical traditions to know the best way to enchant rugs. But I know they can fly the same way brooms can.

BANG!

I jolt at the reverberating sound of the bookshelf crashing to the ground.