Page 101

A stray page falls out, fluttering to the floor. I pick it up, glossing over the words, my eyes straining in the poor lighting.

Shock curls through me at the drawing. A body of water. A single drop of blood. Scribbled at the bottom, smudged, but still readable: back the way it came, entry and exit are the same.

Take. Yours.

“I shouldn’t…”

The pages start turning again, riffling quicker and quicker, whispers overlapping, growing louder. My hair whips across my face as the energy in the room spikes, tingling through my limbs. The whispers crescendo, urging me, empowering me.

Grimoire. Coven. Yours.

The book slams shut, sending up a cloud of dust. Perhaps it leaps into my hands, or perhaps I lurch toward it. Either way, it finds a new home tucked into the folds of Sunday’s hoodie, pressed against my heart.

I feel more connected to my spirituality now than I ever have, a proud feeling sitting in my chest. Too eager to read before heading back, I lean up against a lamppost and greedily consume several pages in the fog.

This grimoire isn’t like mine. It’s…darker. Less forgiving. Demonology is a common theme, with crude depictions of differing species and an overtly pornographic image of an incubus having its way with someone. I stumble upon the section that must match the crumpled-up piece of paper wedged into my back pocket.

As I read, the bone-chilling reality strikes me. It’s possible that I can send the demon back the way it came. The only way to do that is to meet it at the source and extricate it. It’s slim but…I feel energized. I feel powerful, for the first time in my life.

I’m not naive enough to think this will be easy, but I traverse Sunday’s stairwell with more pep than I did coming down. I’m brimming with magic, so I expend a little by unlocking the door with phantom fingertips.

The door snicks shut behind me the same way, my eyes adjusting to the dark as I creep forward and start unlacing my chucks.

“What are you doing?”

Sunday’s voice from behind me makes me jump out of my skin. Voices in my head, normal. Fine. Voices suddenly coming from behind me, terrifying.

“Fuck, Sunday! Don’t do that!” I squeak, whirling on him, throwing my shoe at him. He catches it easily.

“You’re the one skulking around in the dark dressed in black,” he points out.

“Isn’t that what you do every day?”

“Hmm,” he grumbles, walking over and bending to unlace my other shoe. I’m thankful for the warmth of his skin against mine.

He angles his head with an expectant expression, silver light painting the side of his face through the large windows.

“I broke into the Salem Witch Museum and stole a grimoire.” I give him a wide grin.

“You naughty, naughty boy, Bels.” He tsks at me. “Was it worth it at least?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it was. I think…if we go back to where you got possessed, I’ll be able to send it back.”

He doesn’t need to know how slim the probability is that I’ll be able to do it. The spell suggests a three-witch minimum, but I don’t have time to find three witches willing to help me. We have two days, and it’s not enough. All I can do is try to accept my fate if I fail.

“That’s… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stands, towering over me.

“It’s the only one I have, Sunday.” I sigh with exasperation.

“What if it goes wrong? Can you even⁠—”

I smack my hands into his chest. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m weak. I’ve managed to claw my way this far through life.”

He covers my hands, expression softening. “I don’t think you’re weak, baby. I’m just…I know it wants you. And I don’t know how to protect you from it. Delphine’s trying, I think.”

I jerk my head up at the mention of her name. “Delphine? You’ve seen her?”

“She…might be inside me? Can you be twice possessed?”