Page 2 of Drawn to the Demon Duke (Sombra Demons)

MANIFEST AND PROMISE

SUSANNA

V ERUS AMOR .

That’s what the blocky print at the top of the page read. It was easy to translate it since neither of the words were that unfamiliar gibberish, and when I realized it said ‘true love’, I was stunned.

Stunned and, well, kind of psyched.

A true love spell… is that why this book called to me?

Because it knew that innocent sixteen-year-old Suzy Benoit would turn into awkward-in-love twenty-eight-year-old Susanna?

That, after a life of reading about and watching love stories with guaranteed happily-ever-afters, I would see a true love spell and believe it could be my only chance at having a happy ending of my own?

Maybe. All I can say for sure is that, for weeks, I’ve focused on translating as much of that page as I could.

It took forever. Of all the pages, it had the most words, broken down into two distinct sections.

Following the same scheme, I’d say I was able to translate about eighty-two-ish percent into English; the rest were a collection of harsh syllables that I only hoped didn’t change my interpretation of it too much.

Because the spell? I’m pretty sure I understand the difference between the two parts.

The first paragraph had phrases like the God grant you to your heart and I’m calling you, uxor my, to me . I don’t know what ‘uxor’ means exactly, though the rest of the paragraph makes it obvious it’s referring to the true love it’s trying to call.

No. Manifest. That’s the word I jotted down in pencil next to the first paragraph. It’s a spell to manifest the true love.

The second paragraph was much longer, repeating that same word, but it’s full of promises.

Like a wedding vow, almost, and I guess that makes sense.

Wouldn’t you want to promise that you’d always choose your true love?

So though I kept my attempts at the translations in my notebook, once I was sure that I understood what the second paragraph meant, I added the word ‘promise’ in pencil.

At the top, I doodled ‘true love’ next to the blocky print so that I knew this page was different from all the others.

Those three lines were the only ways I altered the book…

except for scribbling my name on the inner cover years ago when I was first afraid Mindy might take it to keep me from devoting all of my time and effort on it… until now.

After I tore open Ed’s letter, reading the advice he provided—advice that I wanted confirmation on—I ran to my bedroom, retrieving the book. Still clutching the letter, I tucked the book under my arm, then snagged a pencil.

From the moment I realized that this book was a bonafide spellbook, I always knew that I would read one of the spells. What’s the point of owning a grimoire if I didn’t at least try to do some magic?

I blame my fascination on the book with seeing Bedknobs and Broomsticks at an impressionable age.

I was only thirteen when the Disney movie came out, and I thought it was magical, the way they had cartoons and people in the same film.

Then there was how Eglentine had a magic book and…

yeah. Part of me always thought that magic could be real, and not only because I grew up on Bewitched reruns.

But, well, Satanic Panic is also a thing.

There were enough clues throughout my years-long project of translating the pages to tell me that what I manifest might not be, well, human.

That doesn’t mean I expect, like, ALF to appear in my house, or maybe even E.T.

But what if I pull a Sarah from Labyrinth and manifest a goblin king into my brother’s bedroom? Or the Lord of Darkness from Legend ?

Now, I wouldn’t complain if David Bowie showed up at my house. But a red-skinned demon with horns? I figured it couldn’t hurt to get a little advice from someone who knows what they’re doing.

Thank you, Mr. Woodrow.

Cracking the book open, setting his letter down on the left page, I try not to think about my sister.

Mindy would be so disappointed if she knew that I was still obsessed with the book.

Four years ago, when I came to live in Madison and first got my job at the call center, I fibbed a little and told her that I’d finally realized that I needed to grow up and move on from it.

I didn’t. I just got better at not letting anyone know that I dedicated most of my teens and all of my twenties to trying to understand the hold it has on me.

True love. It would be worth it all if I could find my true love.

I was cautious, though. When I wrote to Mr. Woodrow, I asked if there were any precautions I should take if I planned on trying to manifest something into our world. Instead of writing me off as another cuckoo fan, he actually answered me.

Scanning his letter again, I note the things he told me I would need.

Chalk… salt… I figured as much and already bought a pack of yellow chalk at Woolworth’s.

I’ve got plenty of salt in the kitchen, too.

He says I should use the chalk to draw a pentacle, then circle it with the salt.

He was even so helpful as to illustrate what he means, and I quickly copy it onto the verus amor page to practice it myself before adding a small note to draw it in yellow chalk, then circling it with the salt so I don’t forget.

Then, with a hint of a smile on my face, I added a few more instructions.

To perform the spell, according to two of the witches I wrote last month, I’d need an open mind, an open space, a clear floor, and a willingness to be love.

The clear floor makes sense now that Mr. Woodrow confirmed I need it for the protective circle, and the willingness to be loved…

well, I have to believe in true love if I want the spell to work—and I do. I totally do.

I’ll have to write a thank-you note to Mr. Woodrow for his help. For now, I fold up his letter, tucking it into my kitchen drawer as I go to retrieve the salt and the chalk, then get to work on prepping the space for the manifestation.

Sorry, aerobics class. I’m taking tonight off.

I’m a bit of a perfectionist. It takes me three tries with the chalk and the salt before I’m satisfied that it matches the design in Mr. Woodrow’s letter. Just in case, I want to protect myself because getting caught up with the occult after Mindy told me not to… not cool, dude. Not cool at all.

I don’t doubt that it’ll work. It has to.

I put too much time, too much hope, too much effort into the Grimoire du Sombra , and if I get a true love out of it, it’ll all be worth it.

And if my translation was way off due to those unfamiliar words…

at least I have the protective circle to keep me safe.

Once I was done, I thought about grabbing my notebook from my bedroom. In the end, I decided not to. The spell wasn’t one hundred percent translated, after all, and if it was written in this language, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to read it the same way.

So I do. I read them exactly as they’re printed on the page, and I haven’t even finished the final syllable when… Yes! Yes! It’s happening.

What’s happening? I… I don’t know. It starts as a white orb that flashes into existence in the center of the protective circle drawn on my wooden floor.

It’s about the size of a baseball, growing larger and larger, brighter and brighter, until I’m peering at it through slits in my fingers once it’s as big as a beach ball.

My room is suddenly inexplicably hot. Humid, too. Sweat beads up along my brow, my ponytail listing as I gasp out a breath. I can’t even tell if I’m struggling to breathe at the sudden temperature change—or because the searingly white light of the growing orb explodes.

I’m blinded in an instant. Blinking doesn’t even help. All I see is the stunning, shocking brightness, lids closed or not. I rub my eyes, stumbling backward, and when I finally think that I can see again, I open them just enough to see that the orb it… it’s gone .

More amazingly, there’s a… a… something standing in the circle, right where the orb was moments ago.

My mouth falls open. One part of me wants to scream. The other part wants to cheer.

Because I did it. I manifested a…

Well, I’m not too sure what I manifested besides massive and monster . Seriously. He—and something about the monster just screams ‘he’—is built like a San Francisco 49er. He’s huge. Broad shoulders, sculpted muscles, and probably a good two feet taller than me, he’s not just huge. He’s a giant .

He’s also as white as the orb that brought him to my house.

And not just white like humans are white.

He has white hair, with black horns growing out from the top of his head.

White tusks jutting up from surprisingly lush lips.

White, colorless skin, and stark black leather-like pants that—thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully—cover him from the waist down.

In fact, the only spot of color aside from black and white on this big guy are his eyes.

They’re blue.

A bright, vivid glowing blue .

He snarls something at me in a language I don’t understand—but I catch that same word.

Uxor . No doubt in my mind that he’s who I was trying to manifest, but this…

demon? Yeah. He totally looks like a demon…

this demon with his horns and his tusks and his massive bulk is supposed to be my true love?

Then again, maybe not.

Because while I stare at him, still not sure if I should be afraid or welcoming him to Earth, he gives his head a royal shake. Turning on his heel, clicking the claws I just noticed, he takes a step away from me and now he’s gone.

Gone .

I blink. Like the momentary spell just broke, reality slinks back in, and I’m left with a mess on my floor, my heart pounding, my brain trying to process what in the hell just happened.

I can’t. Simple as that. I spent twelve years working toward the moment I could cast one of the old book’s spells, and when I did? The demon I summoned took one look at me and left.

Bogus.

Ugh.

Twelve years down the drain in an instant.

It didn’t matter that I was able to translate thirty-one different spells to some degree.

None of them seemed promising. I mean, a spell to compel something called an ungez?

Or one to conjure a shadow- breaker? That seemed like it would create a blinding orb, similar to what brought that giant monster into my house, but why bother when I could just flick a light switch.

No. It was like I was inspired to keep going until I found the true love spell… and when I finally did, the demon took one look at me and decided to return to wherever I manifested from.

Ah, well. Maybe I should’ve expected something like that. Besides, I can’t do anything about that, and reading the spell a second time only to get rejected again… no, thank you.

Instead, I look at the salt. At the chalk that didn’t do anything to contain my manifestation like Mr. Woodrow claimed it would.

And I sigh.

You know what? I might as well grab a broom. If I can clean this mess up quickly, I might even be able to make my aerobics class after all.