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And with that, he shuts himself away, leaving me to the newly opened staircase.

I blink at the closed door a few times, a mixture of confusion and relief taking hold. But I don’t have time to contemplate his actions. As the effects of Rebecca’s spell wane, I bolt downstairs. The house is empty, quiet, and calm. Everyone who hates me is outside. But that doesn’t matter. This isn’t about them or me.

Daemon. I have to do whatever I can to save him.

I open the backdoor just as the chanting begins, and my heart sinks.

I’m too late.

9

THE BARGAIN

Wide-eyed, I watch the coven elders grip small daggers in their fists, the blades glowing like they’re made of sunlight. My mother is the first to raise hers in the air. She makes a show of wrapping her free hand around the blade and tugs, slicing her palm in a mess of red. Crimson drips into the pool as she leans over it, continuing her chant. The others follow suit, sending tiny bloody ripples through the water.

No one notices me on the porch; they’re all staring at the ritual. I should speak out—should at least try to end it—but my words freeze in my throat. As the elders kick their sacrificial objects into the pool, the blue water shimmers, turning darker, redder, until it’s no longer water but a portal to a familiar red world—Hell. But it isn’t the same view as it was from Daemon’s room.

There’s no light in there, crimson or otherwise. A shadowy figure sits on a raised dais, on a throne made of bleeding, pumping, hearts. Head down, it doesn’t seem to notice us. But then bright light whips out of the elders’ daggers in a sharp burst, coiling around the figure, wrapping around its arms, its legs, its neck. The elders yank their daggers in unison, pulling on the cords, and drag the figure slowly toward our portal.

My breathing catches.

I grip my fists so hard nails dig into the skin.

This is wrong. Dangerous. We shouldn’t be doing it.

Every fiber of my being screams in protest, my hair standing on end as the silhouette peers directly at us. It doesn’t move or thrash. It doesn’t make a sound. Somehow, I get the feeling it doesn’t need to fight us; it could destroy us without so much as a thought. As the being comes through the portal, I expect the elders to drag it to the ground. They never get the chance.

The shadows fall off of it—him—like discarded robes. He grabs onto the golden threads and pulls, ripping the daggers from our elders. They clatter to a hard marble floor on the other side of the portal. His voice is low and calm when he speaks.

“How dare you summon me?”

I stare at him and blink. That voice is familiar, and that face… The man looks just like Daemon, down to the windswept hair and glimmering red eyes. He even dresses like him, in a designer business suit custom-tailored to hug him like a glove.

His father? But if Daemon were the son of an archdemon, he’d have told me, right?

“One of your demons is in violation of our peace treaty,” my mother tells him. Her voice doesn’t wobble, even as the other witches take several steps back—Christopher included. “He has invaded one of our sacred spaces and killed a coven elder. He must be punished.”

Salios cracks his neck before answering. “Do you have proof?”

My mother points to her head. “Take it from my mind.”

Salios doesn’t walk over to her, he floats, his dress shoes hovering a few inches off the ground. Clawed fingernails rake along my mother’s scalp—dark and black. Daemon has only shown his to me a handful of times, and they still make me shiver. But my mom remains statue-still as Salios takes the memory from her and projects it into the pool for everyone to see.

“Your daughter cannot complete the baptism,” Martha hisses. She holds the Book of Life tightly to her chest and glares at—presumably—my mom. “We discussed this already. So long as she is bonded to that demon—”

Mom cuts her off and points up to the balcony, to the glowing orb that’s casting bright light over mine and Christopher’s faces. God, it’s disorienting seeing me through her eyes. This scared, wide-eyed girl, in much too short a dress, backing up like the ball is going to set her on fire.

“The angels say she can,” Mom says, and yanks the Book of Life from her. They fight over it, tugging and pulling, their shoes scraping across the marble. It’s not a flattering memory for the coven to see, but if she’s embarrassed by it, she doesn’t show it. Her face remains flat and expressionless as Salios takes more from her, continuing to project it into the pool.

In the projection, Mom keeps looking at me while she and Martha fight, probably waiting for me to touch the ball and accept my place amongst the coven. But I don’t. I peer at my wrist instead. The lights go out and suddenly Martha’s hands disappear from the book, sending my mom falling to her ass.

Martha screams.

Cool water splashes onto the floor as Mom grapples to regain her footing.

And then the lights come back on, revealing a very dead coven elder who lies in the pool with a broken body and twisted neck. But it’s more than that—something I couldn’t see from my spot on the balcony. Her lips are swollen, her eyes seared black. A telltale sign of an incubus feeding gone wrong. Proof that it wasn’t a witch that killed her, but a demon.

Daemon is fucked.