Page 10 of My Demon Hunter (Hell Bent #2)

9

LE REPAIRE DES SORCIèRES

T he door screeched loudly as Lily pulled it open, and she froze, checking over her shoulder that she was alone. She shook her head. The alley was empty, and she already knew no one was inside—the shop had closed hours ago, and Iris had already texted to confirm she was home after her shift.

Lily even had a key. It wasn’t like she was pulling a B&E.

Slamming the fire door behind her, she felt around in the pitch black for a switch. A moment later, the room flooded with light. She found herself in the back of a little Mile End shop that had been there longer than she’d been alive. Everyone in the area had heard of Le Repaire des Sorcières—The Witches’ Lair—but most had no idea the name was so literal.

The back room of Le Repaire looked like any old store’s. Paint chipped off the walls, the floors were slanted, and the gaps in the hardwood were big enough to lose a pen in. A tiny table and chair were positioned opposite a cracked sink with a vintage microwave on a shelf above that had to be in violation of a hundred safety codes. Every other inch of the room was packed with shelves, boxes, and racks of stock.

Parting a rack of flowing floral skirts, Lily pushed and shoved her way to the expertly buried far wall. There, a small gap between piles of boxes revealed an intricate sigil.

Realizing what she needed to do, she grimaced. Why did magic have to be so obsessed with blood?

Iris always had a knife or something sharp on her, but the only thing Lily had was her emergency sewing kit, and she refused to stab herself with a sewing needle on purpose.

Luckily, this was the witches’ lair, and she didn’t have to look far to find a tool. Resting atop the box pile beside her, the knife had obviously been used for this purpose in the past. A lighter on the tray beside it served as the only form of disinfectant. So, so gross.

Gritting her teeth and blocking thoughts of proper sanitary practices, she singed the blade and pricked the pad of her finger with the sharpened tip. Most witches had done this so many times, they’d lost all nerve sensation. Lily, not so much.

Wincing at the pain, she pressed her finger into the center of the sigil. Instantly, the protection spell shimmered and disappeared, revealing a tiny door in the wall. She unlatched the rusty bolt and pulled it open, using her phone flashlight to illuminate a narrow staircase to the underground cellar.

Despite knowing this room was frequented by witches, even her own sister, it didn’t quell the creepy sensation of descending a staircase into blackness by herself at night. She kept expecting the door to slam or a monster to growl from the dark.

At the bottom of the stairs, she felt around for the switch, and the lights flickered on.

The sight before her was not what one would expect after the spooky staircase. The stone walls and floor of the surprisingly spacious, low-ceilinged cellar suggested the building’s construction dated back at least a hundred years.

Rows of bookshelves were surrounded by several large worktables. A chalkboard hung on the opposite wall. Piles of stacked chairs were arranged by the entrance, and casting materials were stored in organized bins beside them. For a basement coven lair, it was all very... conventional.

Except for one thing.

Painted on the floor at the far end of the room was a large, complex sigil with piles of melted candle wax and dusty crystals positioned around it, suggesting it had been there for a while. In the center circle, set in a velvet-lined box, were two vials of blood (gross) and two locks of blond hair that looked eerily similar to Lily’s own shade (also gross).

A chill crept down her spine at the sight, but she didn’t allow her attention to be diverted for long. She was here for a reason and learning the purpose of that sigil wasn’t it.

Feeling like the intruder she sort of was, she tiptoed across the room to the bookshelves. Everything was scanned and organized on the computer database, but she didn’t want to turn one on in case it was somehow traceable.

She scanned the shelves of ancient, decaying grimoires in the “D” section. It didn’t help that half the books were in Latin or other dead languages. Her Latin was terrible, but at least “demon” was a fairly universal word.

Finally, she found what she sought. A book as thick as the length of her forearm, likely older than the building it was being stored in.

Daemonium Compendium. She snorted. They couldn’t come up with a more creative name?

Tugging the hefty volume off the shelf, she dropped it on the nearest desk, where it landed with a thud and shot out a cloud of dust. Coughing, she waved a hand to clear the air.

Then she started flipping pages.

Thankfully, despite its unimaginative Latin title, this compendium was written in English. She carefully maneuvered the frail pages until she found the letter “M.” She knew Mist was a nickname, but his friend had also called him Mishetsu, and she was hoping it would be enough to go by.

And it was.

Breath catching, she carefully read the entry that was shorter than all the others.

“Mishet— Whoa.” She squinted and sounded out the complicated name. “Mish-et-su-meph-tai. Mishetsumephtai. The Hunter. The legendary tracker of Hell. Greater demon of unknown power and status, a creature of mist and shadows. Ancient, deadly, rarely glimpsed. Little is known of this elusive demon.”

And that was it, all the information there was. Some of the entries had pages full of information, but Mist barely got four sentences. Below the short write-up was a sketched image of what was supposed to be his demon form.

She peered closer and laughed. The image was of a gargoyle-like monster with a curved spine and hideous snout. His hands looked like eagle talons and his arms like spider legs. Evidently, the artist had never actually seen Mist in the flesh because the drawing looked nothing like him. At least they hadn’t lied about him being rarely glimpsed.

But that wasn’t the information she was after.

Below the write-up and drawing was a miniature rendition, no larger than a teacup saucer, of his summoning seal.

She reached over and flicked on the desk spot lamp, peering so closely at the intensely detailed drawing that her nose nearly touched the page. She straightened abruptly and blew out a breath.

It had to be the most complicated seal she’d ever seen. The circular design was full of hundreds of smaller sigils, intersected by intricate lines. Each one required a precise audible syllable to be chanted during the process of drawing and activating it. One mistake and the whole thing would fail.

Lily had never even considered dabbling in demonology before, but even if she had, she would never have attempted such a difficult summoning. In fact, successful summonings of a demon this powerful were so rare, the last one she’d heard of had to be nearly a century ago.

And didn’t that just give her a big ol’ boost of confidence.

Rather, she was already breaking into a cold sweat just considering it. But she did have one advantage—hopefully. She was pretty sure.

She was banking on Mist realizing who was summoning him and therefore not fighting it. It was the demon’s resistance that made it such a risky venture. The more powerful the demon, the stronger they resisted the seal’s pull. She’d never read about a demon that wanted to be summoned before, but she could only assume it would make the job easier.

Mist had to want to come, right? Even if he was angry with her, wherever he was in Hell couldn’t be preferable to her company, could it? And even if he didn’t want to come, if she screwed up or wasn’t strong enough to trap him—a distinct possibility—he wouldn’t want to harm her, right?

How much did she really know about him? Basically nothing. She hadn’t even known his full name until she’d found it in this book.

Everything she knew about demons said they loathed being bound into service and would fight with everything they had to escape. And if they did, best believe you were going to wind up dead. Humans that dabbled in the supernatural were exempt from heavenly protection, and a demon would never miss an opportunity to kill without consequence, especially if the human he was killing had tried to entrap him.

Little though she knew about Mist, however, she just couldn’t believe he would harm her.

But was she willing to stake her life on it? Because that was precisely what she would be doing. And for what purpose? To help someone she’d met twice, who’d lied about who he was? Was it really worth the risk?

Logically, no. Not even close.

But there went that instinct again telling her that yes, it was worth it. That she had to do it. And damn it, she was tired of being afraid of everything.

She wanted to be fearless and strong. She wanted to look in the mirror and think, That is one badass lady . Not, I really shouldn’t have had that cake last night .

Mist was right. Life was too short to spend it full of longing, and she was done being a coward.

All fired up from her mental pep talk, she used her phone to snap a few pictures of Mishetsumephtai’s seal. After returning the dusty tome to the shelf, she dug through the organized containers and gathered all the casting supplies she could possibly need and then some.

Chalk. Lots of chalk. And candles, crystals and other semiprecious stones, feathers, some incense and herb concoctions—all the typical witchy stuff. All she really needed was the seal and the chalk, but the other stuff helped focus the energies, and she’d take any boost she could get.

Supplies gathered, she loaded everything into her oversized purse, flicked off the lights, and headed upstairs. Closing the door and reactivating the wards, she rearranged the ugly robes and flicked off the back-room lights.

Her phone rang the moment she stepped outside.

Cursing, she slammed the fire door shut and dropped her giant bag to dig for her phone at the bottom. She debated ignoring it, but what if Iris was freaking out again? It had taken a lot of effort to convince her to go home after work and not back to Lily’s place, and she needed her sister to stay away for a while.

When she finally found it, she gasped when she saw the call display. “Mist? Is that you? Where did you go? Your friend said y—”

“It’s not Mist.”

The deep voice had an undertone of something scary, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Slinging her heavy bag over one shoulder, she hurried toward the street. “Who is this? And why do you have Mist’s phone?”

“Are you Lily?”

“Yes...”

“Judging by the thirty-five missed calls from you on Mishetsu’s phone, I’m guessing you wanted to speak with him.”

“Yes, and?”

“He’s gone back to Hell and is currently unreachable. That’s why he hasn’t returned your calls.”

Her steps faltered as she turned onto the sidewalk. “He’s actually in Hell?”

“Not because he wants to be. Because he had no choice but to go or die.”

“I’m sorry, what? Die?”

“Meph told me you tried to trap him with your sad little prison wards. So why would you want to talk to him now?”

“I didn’t trap him in the wards. My sister did. And I want to talk to him because...”

She trailed off and winced. If she was actually attempting this insane venture, shouldn’t she at least have a clear response to that question?

“Because I want to give him a chance to explain himself. Because my gut is telling me there’s more to this, and I want to understand.”

As she continued toward home, she kept checking over her shoulder, expecting her sister to leap out at any moment.

“All right, human. So you want to speak to Mishetsu. I know how to make it happen.”

“Well, actually, I was going to try summoning him myself.”

“What?”

“I was going to try summoning Mist myself.”

There was long silence, and then the man—demon—barked a laugh. “Here I was thinking I was going to be dragging you here kicking and screaming, and now you’re telling me you were going to try summoning Mishetsumephtai by yourself ?”

“Well, yeah...” He laughed again, and Lily glared at the empty sidewalk ahead of her. “Why don’t you think I can do it?”

“I don’t think you can’t do it. I know you can’t do it. No simple witch could.”

She gritted her teeth. “Who says I won’t be the first?”

“You won’t. I’d say you’re welcome to try anyway, but I need you alive for now.”

How reassuring. “Why?”

“I don’t explain myself to humans, and certainly not witches. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t kill you if you do what I say.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I thought you wanted me alive.”

“Yeah. If you do what I say. Otherwise, I’m not fussed.”

“W-what do you want me to do?”

“Come here and summon Mishetsu under my surveillance. I’ll channel power into you so you’re capable of it, since you won’t be otherwise. Afterward, you’re free to go.”

She swallowed. Sure, she’d been planning on summoning Mist anyway, but she wanted nothing to do with whoever was on the phone right now. It was obvious by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t making idle threats.

“You either come here of your own volition now, or I’ll track you down and bring you here myself. Don’t try to run because I will find you, and it will be ugly.”

She took a breath and gathered her courage. “I’m sorry,” she said in a wavery voice, “but I don’t trust you. Thanks for the offer, but I respectfully decline.”

There was a pause.

“Don’t even think about hanging up on—”

Lily ended the call.

Heart pounding, she stared at the empty street ahead of her. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that. He’d threatened to kill her, for god’s sake. Was she insane? Stupid?

Possibly. Probably.

A moment later, she started running.