Page 27 of Curses & Cold Brew (Maple Hollow #2)

IRIS

A ll I could see was Ramona’s furious, terrified face as the world went black.

I thought I knew what her anger looked like, but it was nothing compared to the ferocity that had radiated from her like heat waves in a desert.

She’d looked as if she were going to tear the other demon to shreds, reconstitute her, then shred her apart all over again.

For me . Whatever fear had flashed through me at being taken was superseded by that thought: the most ferocious demon in hell and on Earth was coming to get me.

When I came to, my head was throbbing and my stomach was sloshing like a burbling washing machine.

Jumping through time and space was not meant for human—or witch—bodies.

I felt like I’d just run a marathon, my corporeal vessel put through the wringer.

I groaned, my throat hoarse, and I wondered how long I’d been out.

The soft glow of sunlight that peeked through the slats of the building was my only clue.

Judging by the sharp angle, I surmised it was just after dawn.

It was only when I attempted to lift my aching head that I realized my hands were tied to a hook on the wall above me.

What the . . .

I yanked on my itchy rope bindings, testing them.

I still wore nothing but Ramona’s blue sweater, which barely covered my ass as I gathered my legs under me.

I took in the room as my head cleared. I surveyed the dirt floor, slats of splintering wood, the ladder that stretched up to a loft with an unmade bed .

. . and bucketfuls of rusty pumpkin carving tools.

It all came flooding back to me.

“Naphula.” I searched for her as my depth perception started to recover. “What the fuck have you done?”

My bleary eyes finally landed on the demon standing in the corner, her eyes glazed and completely black. She looked like a vacant zombie . . . although that wasn’t really fair to our local zombie bartender.

I’d seen that look before. Had learned all about it at the summer camp for witches. That was how I knew for certain that Naphula was under some sort of curse.

“So that’s how she’s doing it,” I murmured, realization lighting up my senses. “Using a demon to do her dirty work. Clever, Esme. She must’ve known Ramona wouldn’t have warded her house against her best friend.”

Naphula didn’t react at all to my voice. She just waited like a robot for her next command.

Shit . That was some seriously dark magic if even a demon couldn’t fight it.

I wondered how long she’d been under Esme’s curse, how atrophied her ability to fight back had become.

There was a reason this kind of magic had been forbidden by local coven bylaws.

It wouldn’t only potentially kill Naphula if she was kept under its grip for much longer, but Esme could just as soon destroy herself with this curse as much as wield it.

“Esme,” I croaked as loud as I could, trying to summon the vampire. But the air remained still—as did my silent demonic babysitter, who didn’t so much as flinch.

I gritted my teeth. This bitch. She’d come back into town, upended Ramona’s life—and by extension, my own—and now she thought could just kill me?

Not happening. You’ve messed with the wrong witch.

Fuming, I gathered the magical energy within me and concentrated it in my fingertips. Small sparks sizzled above my head. My magic felt both relieved and eager to be unleashed.

“ Dolor ,” I called in Latin. “ Afferte mihi sanguinem .”

Naphula twitched as if bitten by a mosquito. It was the smallest warning, but the dark ooze of demon blood appeared as a small nick on her cheek.

“Aha!” I exclaimed with a knowing nod. “Gotcha, bitch.”

I started chanting louder, striking another blow and splitting Naphula’s lip.

I knew the demon could take it, probably was grateful I was doing it, even as I beat her to a bloody pulp.

The threat to the vessel would bring her consciousness to the surface and pull her out of Esme’s control.

I hoped it royally pissed off the vampire as she felt her influence slipping away with the same pain I was inflicting.

“Stop,” Naphula growled, her voice and face contorting, distorted by the curse. “I said stop, you fucking witch.”

I let out my patented witch cackle, glee igniting my magic.

“You didn’t bring me here to fuck around, Esme,” I crowed. “Fight me.”

Naphula lurched forward, her movements sharp and erratic, as if two puppeteers were battling for control of her strings.

I pushed harder, spurred on by the knowledge that the connection between her and Esme was fracturing.

With a snap of my fingers, I released my useless bindings.

The fools had tied me up like I was a human.

A simple rope would never stop a witch. They would have needed more than that to keep me held down.

I rose to my feet just as Naphula got within arm’s reach of me. I cocked my fist and swung, hitting her with a hard uppercut to the jaw that had her stumbling backward and my knuckles shooting with a satisfying flash of pain. I steadied myself on my feet, fire magic swirling around my hands.

Naphula shook her head, bits of white and silver bleeding through the black veil in her eyes before disappearing again.

“Fight it, Naphula,” I commanded. Then I spoke to Esme again, a wicked smile pulling my lips. “Come on, bloodsucker,” I snarled. “Let’s play.”