Bending over behind the desk, he riffled around in the drawer, pulled out another bottle, and popped the cork with his sharp, little panda teeth. “Sit down, sit down,” he slurred at me and Ronin. “It’s time for class.”
Stumbling over to the chalkboard, he wipedHaven’t Fucking Decided Yetoff and replaced it with—
“Magic class?” I read.
“Magic class!” he burst out, making me jump. “With the second attack by this mysterious, skulking witch, and the bodycount now up to ten, it was suggested to me”—he bowed in the general direction of the left side of the room—“that this period would best be spent teaching you how to defend against witch magic.
“Something you’ve never had to learn, because there’s never been a living witch in hell.”
Once again, I watched my classmates do something they hated doing more than anything—shutting up, sitting up, and paying attention.
Somnus sucked down five big, gulping gulps of whiskey. “The first thing to know— The first thing— The first—” He staggered back, head lolling, and then snapped to us glaring like he didn’t know what the hell we were doing there or why we were staring at him. “Oh, yeah. The first thing to know is that witch magic is fundamentally different than other types of magic.
“Demonic magic is dark magic,” Somnus got out. “And dark magic is so named because it demands a price. A price that must be paid by you, a sacrifice, or your victim. Vampires and werewolves—”
I was mildly surprised and relieved that he called them by their specie name and not by a slur.
“—have no magic in the traditional sense,” he continued. “They were merely humans suffering under a curse that has spread either by birth or bite. Then, there are the fae, who bound themselves to the service of nature, and therefore received her blessings. Being that there is very littlenaturein hell, they rely on their wings as their source of power—for a fae’s wings are in and of itself a gift from the wind.”
Quietly, I found my seat and flipped open my notebook. My pencil was flying across the page in seconds, writing down his every word.
“But what is a witch?” Somnus paused to let out an ear-splitting belch. “She is a mortal woman who has been blessedwith power granted to her by a goddess. Now this magic,” he said, climbing onto his desk and stretching out with his feet up, “does not come at a cost in the same way dark magic does.
“There are limits, yes. There are rules—certainly. But a witch needn’t bargain with her power to get it to do her bidding,” he said. “Any more than she need bid her blood to run or her heart to beat. This essentially means that the power of the goddess—a piece of that goddess—lives within her.
“And there’s nothing the gods hate more thanDEMONS!” he burst out, gesturing at us with finger and bottle. “That means that no matter how powerful the dark magic you throw at her, you cannot strip her of her power nor turn it against her. The divine in her willresistthe filthy, blasphemous magic of a demon with strength not even a lord of hell can hope to match.
“And even worse, the power of the goddess will destroy you,” he hissed. “And she won’t do it gently or quickly.”
Somnus nearly popped his head off shaking it. “Now, now, this doesn’t mean that demons can’t defeat a witch with magic. They just can’t take her magic from her, or compulse her not to use it. You will need other tricks up your sleeve.”
I found myself nodding along as I wrote—completely absorbed.
“In other words,” Ronin spoke up. “A demon must attack the woman, not the witch.”
Again another vigorous bob that made his furry ears flap in the breeze. “Egg-xactly.”
Attack the woman, not the witch? How would that work?
I opened my mouth to ask, but Somnus was already moving on.
“Now, what about fae, werewolves, and vampires? Do you all stand a better chance?” Bright, swimming eyes tried to sweep over us with a serious look. “This depends. Witches created immobilization spells”—he pointed at the vampires—“and anti-shifting spells—“he pointed at Tristan—“and illusion-cancelling spells”—he pointed at the fae—“centuries ago.
“The witches have a counter for every tool in your arsenal, and they have done for long since before you all were born, so,” he said, sloshing the whiskey when he clapped, “it becomes less a matter of if you’re tough enough to face a witch, and more a matter if you’re quick enough to get her before her spells get you.”
Somnus smiled the wide, beaming grin of a drunken fool. “And seeing as the little witch sneaking around our school is doing such an excellent job of hiding herself, methinks you’ve all lost the element of surprise.”
No classroom in Abaddon Academy had ever been so quiet.
“But no long faces!” he bellowed, shooting my heart into my throat again. “Stop looking so doomed. You’re putting me off my drink! This is what this class is for,” Somnus said. “To teach you how to fight a witch, so come on. Who knows the first thing to do once you’ve got the sneaking witch cornered?”
A few looks passed among the groups, but no one spoke up.
“Anyone?” Somnus slurred. “Annnnnyyyyoonnne?”
A hand shot up, whipping my head around. “I have an idea, sir. I know exactly what to do.”
I goggled at Ronin. Who even knew such a bright, chirpy sound could come from him?
