“I did my best to dissuade him, but you know how Matthias is when he’s got an idea stuck in his head, and?—”
“For fuck’s sake, Warren. Just tell me.”
Another sigh, a final squeeze round the shoulders, and he steps back. There’s an apology in his eyes, though I can’t tell whether it’s for the unwanted affection or the news he’s about to deliver.
“Evelyn bound her daughters’ power and sent them away as children,” he says. “Decades later, they have no memory or knowledge of their heritage, nor of their duties. The portal, as it stands, is unguarded. Without an infusion of new magic, we’ve got only weeks at best.”
“Not to worry. Any binding spell cast by their mother would’ve broken upon her death. The sisters’ reunion—in their ancestral home, no less—should start unlocking their magic almost immediately.”
“Right, but they won’t know what to do with it. They’ll need an orientation. Training. And that’s assuming they don’t outright refuse the call.” Sympathy flashes in his eyes. “Until this morning, they led mundane human lives. Jobs, boyfriends, regular bullshit. Someone needs to ease them into this, Merri.”
Ah. So there it is. The first shoe dropped.
“The Council wants demons leading the charge,” he confirms.
“Right. Shaping young minds and whatnot?”
“Better than some renegade witch bending their ears.”
“Are there no other relatives?”
“The bloodline is broken.”
“How fortuitous for Hell,” I say dryly, wondering how much of my evening I’ll need to dedicate to the cause, unearthing raretreaties and spell books, looking for loopholes our illustrious leaders might exploit.
“The Council isn’t wrong, Merri. Not on this. Witches have gained too much control over Hell’s magic. It’s supposed to be an equal responsibility for an equal power, but we’ve been giving it up by degrees year after year, and Evelyn… well, the portal hasn’t been exactly stable under her reign, has it?”
I can’t argue that. We’ve had more trouble in the last decade than in all the decades prior. Demons who haven’t earned the right to travel to the human realm, slipping through the portal unregulated, wreaking havoc. Unscrupulous witches taking advantage, summoning and binding entities well beyond their capabilities, or worse—visiting Hell uninvited, searching for more power. The portal itself requires equilibrium, and every infraction—on their side or ours—further destabilizes it.
Despite a clever publicity campaign, the underworld abhors chaos; Hell’s greatest power lies it its ability to maintain complete control. Or at the very least, the illusion of it. Without the assistance of highly skilled witches, that illusion becomes much more difficult to maintain.
“Now is our chance to reroute the course,” Warren continues. “Evelyn’s heirs are untested, unbiased. What better time to step in, assert our interests, and re-solidify the partnership?”
“By assert and re-solidify, you mean?—”
“Take the responsibility off their hands. Reclaim control.”
“Impossible. They’d have to give up the portal guardianship willingly, or the transfer of power is nullified. Threat, coercion, and trickery are a direct violation of the Accords.”
“Convincing them that the transfer is in their best interest isnot.”
“Fine line, Warren. Fine line.”
“One the Council is ready to walk.” He crumples the now empty pastry bag and arcs it toward the wastebasket at the endof the row. Misses the shot. Ignores it. “Matthias already signed off. It’s as good as done.”
Disappointment settles inside. He’s right—Idohate this. Not that I’d admit as much, but I’ll miss him while he’s topside. Training new witches? Convincing them to hand over an ancient power? That could take months. Years, even, if they’re half as stubborn as their mother was. “When do you leave?”
Confusion flickers in Warren’s gaze, followed by something that looks an awful lot like regret. “Merri…”
I remove my spectacles and handkerchief. Busy myself with the sudden urgent cleaning of the lenses. He’s leaving something out. Something crucial. Something worthy of a pastry bribe…
Of course. The hound.
I let out a put-upon sigh—pure theatrics. Secretly, I enjoy Medusa’s company. She’s very well-behaved, shedding and drooling not withstanding, and always respects the rules in the archives, which is more than I can say for her keeper. “IsupposeI could assist with the hound, but I prefer if you bathe and groom her prior to your departure.”
I raise my brows expectantly, but Warren continues to stare, silence collecting between us like dust upon the shelves, as if he’s waiting for me to catch up to some part of the story I’ve yet to comprehend, and…
Oh. Oh, no no no.
