“She can’t be more than twenty.”
“Nineteen, actually. The sketch was made by a friend of the family after her passing.”
“How did she die?”
My throat tightens as it always does when I come across such vile injustices. “She was executed, Miss Bonnivarde. By the worst kind of men imaginable.”
“Frat boys? Seriously? I didn’t think fraternities even existed back then.”
I open my mouth to correct her, but upon reflection, she’s not wrong. The Wielders of the Righteous Flame is, in fact, afraternal order, a despicable brotherhood of so-called men who claim power they haven’t earned and use their considerable influence to destroy anything they don’t understand—magic being a primary target.
Especially the magic of women.
My jaw clenches tight. “Witch hunters.”
six
LIZZY
Someone probably wrote a survival handbook with an entire chapter about the dangers of walking into a cemetery in the middle of a foggy night, especially with a demon who emerged through some creepy-ass Hell hole in your mother’s basement, which is unfortunately not a euphemism.
But something about my new professor makes me trust him implicitly.
I think it’s the glasses.
Also, the hotness.
He didn’t stay in demon form long enough for me to get a good look beyond the basics—tail, horns, skin like black smoke, hulking beast vibes—but as a human, he’s lean and muscular, taller than me by a head, with strong yet elegant hands and kind honey-brown eyes and a swoop of dark brown hair I’d love to mess up, if only to get a reaction out of him. He dresses like a proper gentleman straight out of an antique photo, and he’s super uptight and stuffy, and whenever I’m talking, he looks at me with an intensity that makes my skin heat up.
I know, I know. The handbook probably hasthreechapters making the case against using hotness as a measuring stick for decency, but since I don’t have a copy on hand, I guess we’ll never know. Besides, if Dr. Sutherland really wanted to chop me to bits or use me in a ritual sacrifice, he could’ve done it in the basement and saved us both this torturous pre-dawn hike through the pitch-dark woods.
At least he let me run upstairs and get my shoes and a jacket first.
See? Chivalry’s not dead after all. Not even in Hell.
Speaking of Hell, I’m all for learning about my roots, if that’s what it takes to claim my magical legacy and get my spellcasting on, but I didn’t exactly sign up for a workout.
Don’t judge. Your girl is not a hiker. My lungs have been through a lot.
“Are we almost there?” I pant. “We’ve been walking for hours.”
“Seven minutes, actually,” he replies, not winded at all. In fact, judging from the briskness of his steps, he seems to beenjoyingthis little outing. “Which puts us approximately forty-five seconds closer than the last time you inquired.”
“I thought you said you’d be helping with my magical education.”
“That is precisely what I’m doing.”
“Okay, so… when do we actuallydothe magic?”
“Not until you’ve demonstrated an understanding of the fundamentals.”
“Is cardio one of the fundamentals?”
He slows the pace, all the better to turn and glare at me. “You told me, and I quote, ‘I despise reading, Professor. I’m much more of a hands-on learner.’ I’m hoping the cemetery visit will help put things in perspective for you.”
Shame heats my cheeks. I hate the thought of getting a bad grade on the first day. Especially from him. “I didn’t say I despise reading. Just that it’s… never been my favorite.”
“Oh.” He stops for a moment, his tone gentling. “Because you don’t enjoy it in general, or because you struggle with it?”
