“Oh wow,” he says. “That’s so much cooler than a ghost.”
From upstairs, there’s another tearing sound. The lights flicker again. Frost starts forming on the windows.
“Cool is not the word I would use,” I say.
“Can I meet him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s ancient and dangerous and currently trying to escape so he can kill me.”
“That does sound tricky,” Brian agrees. He’s still grinning. “Want some help?”
I stare at him. This cheerful, cult-raised law student who makes perfect flat whites and has absolutely no sense of self-preservation.
“You have no idea what you’re offering.”
“Probably not,” he says. “But you look like you could use a friend right now. And I’m very good at dealing with volatile authority figures. High Priestess Magdalene threw a lot of tantrums.”
Despite everything, despite the terror and exhaustion and the sound of the former king of the Shadow Realm destroying my flat, I feel something in my chest loosen slightly.
“He’s not throwing a tantrum,” I say. “He’s attempting to tear through the fabric of reality.”
“Potato, potato.” Brian unties his apron. “Come on. Let’s go see how bad it is.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Most of my ideas are terrible. That’s never stopped me before.”
He heads for the door that leads upstairs. I follow him because apparently I make terrible decisions too, and at this point I might as well commit to the theme.
We climb the stairs. The temperature drops with every step. By the time we reach my door, I can see my breath misting in the air.
I unlock it. Push it open.
The living room is a disaster. The few books I’ve managed to scavenge from charity shops since I was forced to start all over again, are scattered everywhere. My sparse, cheap furniture is pushed against the walls. The summoning circle is glowing so bright it hurts to look at.
And in the centre of it, the shadows have grown thicker. Darker. More solid.
The blue eyes turn toward us.
“Oh,” says Brian, very quietly. “Those are some really intense eyes.”
“Little witch,” says Dis. His voice is colder than the air, sharper than the ice forming on my windows. “It is time to discuss the terms of my release.”
“No,” I say.
“I wasn’t asking.”
The shadows pulse. The runes flare brighter. The binding holds, but I can see the strain on it now, the way the magic is starting to fray at the edges. All the fail-safes I wove into my spell casting don’t appear to be working, at least not in the way I thought they would.
He’s going to break through.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.
And I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do when he does.
