Page 65 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

As before, the mirror was cold to the touch and depressed beneath the pressure of my fist. The red diamonds twinkled and flashed, the color bleeding away from them as my hand passed through the mirror.

They became true diamonds once more, twinkling palely in the In-Between.

There was that eerie sensation of watching my hand stretch through this void between realms, reaching for Arcadis when my mind told me it should be extending out the back of the mirror.

The coldness of the glass broke as my hand passed through the In-Between, moist, humid air greeting me in Arcadis’s court.

I flinched as the demon took hold of my fist in both hands.

One held me steady around the wrist, and the other…

He fingers caressed down to where mine clamped against my palm.

Wedging his sharp nails under my fingertips, he forced my fist to open.

With a smirk, he glided his fingers against mine until we touched palm to palm in a twisted parody of intimacy.

“Was that entirely necessary?” I snapped.

“Was I not gentle enough?” He chuckled. “Such fragile creatures you witches are.” With his hand still holding my wrist, he used his other one to wiggle the ring loose. Then he gave my hand a patronizing pat for being such a good little witch and slipped the diamond ring back onto his finger.

He practically purred with contentment. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“My brother, Arcadis.”

“Yes, yes. And I still need the Samildánach. Stand back.”

I had just enough time to snatch the grimoire and my pack before the ground opened up beneath the mirror.

The witches startled and scuttled back like frightened crabs.

But only for a second. Aunts Peony and Hyacinth summoned vines that seized the mirror and dragged it away from the churning whirlpool of dirt.

Mom flung her hand out and released a green filament from each of her fingers to ensnare the grimoire and yank it into her embrace.

She began shrouding it in an illusion spell and had it completely obscured by the time the demon rose from the portal.

Whatever crickets and other nocturnal insects still to be found in the forest ceased their songs. No winds blew; no trees creaked. The forest had gone deathly still.

The night air was so cold, ice threatened to shred my lungs as I risked a fortifying breath.

While dirt and leaves and small stones spun in a maddening dervish, not a speck landed on the demon’s clothes.

Arcadis practically flowed out of the ground, the hand with the twinkling ring pressed firmly against his chest. His other hand fisted in Marten’s collar, and my brother emerged from the subterranean purgatory with far less grace.

The moment the soil solidified beneath their feet, my brother collapsed.

His bound hands lurched upwards and yanked the satin gag from his mouth so he could suck in a deep, shuddering breath of mortal air.

Tears leaked out the corners of his eyes.

“Marten,” Mom moaned. He didn’t stir again. She twitched, some invisible force keeping her from rushing to her son’s side.

Dad stood stock-still in the corner of my vision, knives flashing in the moonlight. Air magic wound around their hilts like tiny contrails, and I knew he was contemplating hurling them into the demon’s chest.

“On your feet, witch,” Arcadis barked down at my brother. His leg jerked as if wishing it could kick Marten in the kidneys. “I must deliver you myself; do not make me drag you.”

“Marten.” The power in my voice cut through the tense quiet of the grove. My brother finally opened his eyes, lifted his head. His gaze found the ornate silver mirror in my hands. “Come on.”

His arms shook as he forced himself upright.

His knees wobbled like those of a weary stork.

When he threatened to stagger against Arcadis and soil the demon’s immaculate clothes, the demon caught him with a disgusted sound.

His black pointed fingernails punctured the battle leathers Marten wore as if they were butter-soft, but they didn’t scratch him.

“Together,” the demon said. Remaining on the hardened swirl of soil, Arcadis shoved Marten forward and extended his other hand for the Samildánach.

I caught hold of the rope binding Marten’s hands together and battle magic spurted from my iron cuffs with a simple thought.

Thorny vines writhed up his arms and cinched tight.

My brother hissed with pain, but he endured.

He knew the many barbs were insurance policies in case Arcadis tried to renege on our deal and yank him back to the Unseelie Court.

He would not be so easily taken this time, if at all.

Crimson eyes sparked like stoked coals as Arcadis’s hand gasped the Samildánach.

He gave a firm tug, one I mimicked with Marten, and suddenly we each had our prizes.

There was a breath of cool air against both our faces, a silent whoosh that ruffled the locks loosened from my braid and batted at the demon’s oiled curls. Our bargain was complete.

“Mmm,” the demon hummed. Arcadis ran a fingertip across the reflective glass, but it didn’t smudge. His full lips parted into a wide smile so full of devilish delight, I shuddered. “A pleasure doing business with you, little thief.”

I pushed my brother behind me, letting him stumble into our father’s arms. Before the demon could think about disappearing through his portal, or traveling wherever he wanted with that Eternal Door, I thrust out my hand.

Startled or disgusted, I couldn’t be sure, Arcadis glanced from my hand to my face, eyes narrowing.

“Farewell, Arcadis.” My voice was steady, but inside, I was a trembling mess of anticipation. “No hard feelings?”

The demon snorted, smacked his lips in such a patronizing, condescending way that even Ossian would’ve been impressed by.

“You mortals,” he drawled. Swifter than a lightning strike, he seized my hand and yanked me close.

Those black pointed nails dug deep enough to draw blood, and my magic oak tree flared in response to the assault.

“No hard feelings?” he hissed. “I told you, Misty Hawthorne, that if you gave me my ring, I would come for you. You never steal from a demon, didn’t your grandmother ever teach you that? ”

Unseelie, Seelie, these demons and high fae were all alike. Arrogant, superior… and wholly susceptible to those very qualities blinding them to the fact that a gesture of goodwill could be a trap. Because surely no mortal could be as wily as they.

I met his demonic glare with a steely smile. “I remember.”

Then my fingers tightened on his hand and grew red hot. Arcadis’s skin sizzled, and he lurched back with a shout.

But my grip held, opalescent light leaking through the seams in our fingers.

“I remember, Arcadis,” I repeated calmly, his hand smoking away like fatty meat on a too-hot grill. “And I will not live in fear any longer.”

Fire burst from our hands. Not his, but mine—glittering white and insufferably hot. There was a little pop like the cracking of an egg, then liquid sluiced between our palms. The demon screamed and swung at me with the only weapon he had. The Samildánach.

I lurched my head to the side, out of range, and lifted my fist to meet the reflective glass.

For a second, I felt the magic imbuing the mirror.

Embedded within was a memory of Shannon’s great-grandfather slaving night after night to create this skeleton key of a portal to reach the Unseelie temptress polluting his mind.

Weaving inside the silver like veins through a body were his intent and ambition and obsession.

Obsession made his magic powerful, enduring.

It would survive hundreds if not thousands of years to come, had it not been met with one thing.

Wild, primal magic borne from the heart of the world with the greater power to protect. To grow.

How many lives would Arcadis ruin with this Eternal Door?

How many families? How many good and wondrous things would be snuffed out like that Blight had snuffed out that babe’s life in the cradle?

Violet had fled a would-be tyrant, taking her magic into this mortal realm to pass it down through the generations, not to breed an heir to her vengeance, as she intended, but to create a champion.

The Samildánach shattered beneath my fist.

“ No! ” Arcadis screamed.

But it was done. All of it.

Releasing the demon, I skipped back, well beyond range from that frozen swirl of dirt that marked his portal.

Then I raised both hands, a shard of the Samildánach sticking out of my knuckles like a fifth finger.

On my other hand, liquid gold dripped from my palm and sizzled against the frozen ground.

Arcadis looked in horror from the broken Samildánach to the gold dripping from his own hand. Caught in the runnel were five twinkling diamonds. No longer bound to the ring, they sluiced down the stream of gold like a child’s toys caught in the current.

The moment the first diamond clinked against the earth, a violent wind sprang from the ground. The dirt beneath the demon’s polished boots yawned like a maw. Arcadis yelped as the whooshing wind sucked him clean off his feet, dragging him below.

The demon abandoned the Samildánach. The awful wind whisked it away like a kite on a puckish breeze, swallowing it deep underground.

It dragged at Arcadis but the demon fought like a wildcat.

His sharp nails gouged into the frozen ground like miniature plows, but he could find no submerged boulders or roots to snag.

“No, no, no !” he screamed. With each scrambling swipe of his hands, more of the diamonds abandoned him.

He lifted raging crimson eyes. “I won’t forget this, witch!

You have no idea what you’ve done. You’ll never be free of me!

Do you hear me? Never! I have contingencies, I have— I know your name , witch! ”

As the demon laughed with maniacal delight even as he fought against the pull of the portal, I bent down and retrieved a small rock that had loosened with his arrival. I gave it a little toss to test its weight.

“My name is not Misty Hawthorne,” I said, and hurled the rock straight at his forehead.

The demon’s head snapped back and his nails lost whatever grip they’d fought so hard for. With a gurgled scream, Arcadis slid into the subterranean maw. The earth cinched shut and the punishing wind vanished. There wasn’t even an echo of the demon’s cries.

Finally daring to breathe, I pulled the shard of the Samildánach from my knuckles with a grunt. The flesh sealed and healed itself within seconds, and the magic oak tree soothed the residual pain away.

Eyes glued to the swirl of hardened earth, I forced myself forward.

I had every right to trust that the ground would not open up again, but doubt lingered.

Using a swirl of air to subvert the risk of a demonic hand erupting from the ground to yank me into the Unseelie Court, I lifted the five diamonds of Arcadis’s ruined ring.

They’d stuck like lead against the ground despite the wind but funneled easily into my pocket beside the Samildánach shard. Gwyn would be wanting these.

Then, turning, I met Marten’s astonished gaze before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.