“It’s in Etruscan,” she explained. “A language that predates even my existence. It’s also the language demons use in spells. What you described with Amelia and the response to attempts to locate the practitioner sounds like it’s not a curse but a demon spell. It’s easily mistaken. It’s an Ophish, which means that demon magic was involved. It’s dangerous and deadly.”
Her jaw ticked with apprehension, something I’d rarely seen in her. Even the mere mention of demons made her uncomfortable.
Demons were universally reviled by the supernatural world. People kept their distance from them. We had a demon in Illinois, Diehle, but I hadn’t heard of any other in the neighboring states. There were rumors that the next closest was in Tennessee.
Diehle was a five-hundred-year-old demon who appeared to keep to himself, but his presence in the Chicago vicinity was like a leering wraith. Necromancy abilities made vampires apprehensive of dealing with him. Werewolves despised demons for their animancy capabilities, which allowed demons to control them when they were in their wolf form. Werewolf magic immunity blocked them from most of demon magic except for a transition spell that forced them into their shifter form.
Witches were put off because demons’ dark magic could affect theirs. Whenever Diehle’s name was mentioned, it was always followed by uncomfortable silence and fear. It was Amelia who’d explained the consternation to me. “Demonic magic is raw, destructive, and very dark, with the ability to corrupt ours. They like to attach their magic to ours, twisting our spells and magic to mirror theirs. Forcing us to lose control. Because we’re unable to handle that level of dark magic, it will eventually kill us or drive us to becoming subservient to the demon in order to survive. We’d need to be connected to a demon to perform our magic. And requiring a connection toa demon to survive makes us their minions. I’d choose death over being a demon’s pet.” She made me promise to honor her request in the unlikely event it ever happened to her. Her plea was so earnest that I agreed without hesitation. Her fear gave me a pure hatred of demons.
Knowing this was a demon curse made sense. So many things about it mirrored what demons could do to witches. It took their lives. Their magic made witch magic murky and dark. Witches’ apprehension of demons was about self-preservation.
What defied logic was this curse being done by a witch. Or at least I suspected it was a witch. It could be the work of a demon.
“I think the curse was done by a witch,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I was the target.”
Someone wanted my magic and my life, and it made no sense for it to be a demon. My knowledge of demon magic was limited, but I knew that witch magic didn’t work against demons. After the covens discovered Diehle’s existence, they tried several unsuccessful repulsion spells to drive him out. The kinborn witches were powerful, but they were still witches.
I dropped back into the chair and rested my face in my hand. Feeling the weight of Corrine’s eyes, I lifted them to meet her gaze.
“I don’t know who I’m searching for. A demon or a witch. It seems like the only option I have to break the curse is to force the person who invoked it to remove it or …” I let the less palatable option linger unspoken. “A person capable of such a curse is going to be difficult to deal with, and if it’s a demon…I don’t stand a chance,” I admitted.
The sympathy in Corrine’s expression was surprising.
“I don’t admire the position we’re in—youare in.” She’d bowed out of the situation because it probably involved ademon. I’d be dealing with this alone, and her time would be spent seeking my replacement.
“I believe someone is setting the stage for conflict,” she speculated.
I narrowed my eyes on her. Now she had fully grasped what it would mean for the houses to go to war? That cemented my working theory that this curse was the work of an umbral witch. A curse and gray magic would be more compatible. I wondered if the incompatibility was why Amelia’s coven had failed with the locating spell. Their spellcasting abilities paled in comparison to umbral witch magic, especially when they delved into gray magic.
Our attention returned to the book. “Witches can use a demon spell, right?”
She nodded. “Butthey’d need to translate it from Etruscan and exert a significant amount of magic to perform the spell. If the curse is somehow broken, they’d lose the magic they put into the curse. In the end they’d be a weaker version of themselves.”
“But if successful, they’d retain their own magic and be rewarded with Amelia’s as well.”
She nodded.
“May I borrow this spellbook?” I asked, perusing it to see if any spells made sense to me.
“Grimoire,” she corrected.
“Grimoire,” I repeated, suspecting there was more value to it than a simple spellbook. From my perspective there was. The spellbooks we’d used didn’t give us a window into demon magic or how to counter it.
“The pages I’ve shown you are the only ones of relevance,” she said with a confidence that I willingly accepted. I clung to it because I didn’t have anything else.
“How likely is it that this is the work of an umbral witch?” I asked. If her magic hadn’t been stripped from her, Corrine’smagic would place her in the Nightshade Coven among the other umbral witches. From what I knew of her abilities, she would have easily earned the position of Coven Archanist.
“That would be my guess. If they attacked you, it more likely has to do with your friendship with Amelia and your position with us. The Lunar Veil Coven has an advantage because of your friendship with Amelia. Perhaps this is a means to level the field. You have an extraordinary gift of discernment, but it seems to falter when it comes to witches. Don’t underestimate their thirst for power or their cruelty.” She made a face. “Except the Earthroot Coven. No one takes them seriously.”
That appeared to be the prevailing sentiment among the witch community when it came to the verdant witches. I never understood why. A coven that drew its strength from the earth and could control vegetation and flora shouldn’t be underestimated. If they chose to, they could make the world barren. I took their magic seriously, but their lifestyles, which placed them firmly between Boho and modern eclectic, made it hard to view them as the menace their magic could cause them to be.
“Thank you for the book and your help,” I said, holding the book to my chest with the level of protection and value it warranted. It was all I had now.
“You know how you can thank me.”
