21. It’s Getting Hot in Here

Iwoke midday, feeling at odds. I needed the grimoire to prepare for Abigail, but it was now out of reach. Wait. There were grimoires in the shipment I hadn't finished processing at The Slaughtered Lamb. They weren't the ancient Corey book of spells, but they were something.

I got cleaned up, dressed, grabbed the two necromancy books I had picked up in New Orleans, and ran to the ocean and down the steps into my bookstore and bar.

Dark and empty, it was like coming home and being cut adrift at the same time. Abigail had to be defeated, her influence gone, so that these beautiful rooms could be opened and filled with friends again.

Grabbing a soda, I dropped my necromancy books on my favorite table by the window and then went in search of the grimoires. I remembered unboxing them, so they had to be on one of the book carts in the storeroom.

It didn't take long before I was walking back to my table with five grimoires of varying ages. I'd left the newer ones, the ones that had been published by a company, on the cart, taking only the rare handwritten ones. These were the kind I kept locked in a glass-fronted cabinet in the bookstore.

The first one had peeling leather and an ornate lock. Unfortunately, it also had cramped writing in a foreign language that may or may not have been Welsh. It was something with a shit-ton of Ys. Pushing that one aside, I carefully took the next. This one appeared to be even older. Thankfully, this one was in English, although the script was nearly impossible to read.

Carefully turning delicate pages, I found one spell that was a bit easier to make out. It used the word spirits multiple times. Perhaps this was my kind of wicchey spell. Reading the page over and over, I finally got the gist. It was about calling spirits to drag an enemy away. The words that had given me the most trouble to decipher were Latin. Thank you, Internet translator.

I hopped up and went to Dave's desk in the kitchen for a piece of paper. I wanted to add bookmarks to the spells I needed to memorize and practice. Lydia, Owen's mom, might be able to help me make sense of them.

When I opened the third grimoire, I felt a push on the main ward. I knew a notice had been added to the ward, letting people know I was closed, but the push came again. It was probably Grimm. The old dwarf did not take no for an answer.

Climbing the stairs, I passed through the ward to find a pissed-off gorgon instead of a pissed-off dwarf.

"What the fuck, Sam? Why is this place always closed?" Stheno tried to march past me but ran into the invisible wall again. "You're working my last nerve, Wolfgirl."

"Sorry." Mentally opening the ward to her, I followed in her wake as she stomped down the stairs.

"Make me a drink and tell me why you've gone into hiding." She plopped down on a barstool and drummed her fingers, waiting.

Grinning, I went behind the bar and started pulling bottles. As I made us a pitcher of blackberry lemon drops, I told her the whole story, the part that related to me, not Clive. I wasn't going to tell someone else's secrets.

Carrying the pitcher and two glasses back to my table, I sat and poured. "So, as I don't want to encourage Abigail to possess my friends, I decided to lay low."

"How hard can it be to take this bitch out? I don't get it." Stheno downed the first glass in one gulp and poured herself a refill.

"She keeps to the shadows. I've only ever seen her once in person, when she was handing me off to the wolves to be killed. I think that demon of hers keeps her hidden. She works through others so she can technically keep her hands clean."

Stheno pulled over a chair and put her sandaled feet up. "But since she killed her aunt, she's fucked, Corey-wise?"

Nodding, I finished my first and poured another as well. What the hell. Might as well get drunk.

"So, the plan is to wait for her to come out of hiding again and then take her out?"

Nodding, I took another sip. Motioning to the grimoires spread out on the table, I said, "I'm looking for spells that might help."

"Let's just go grab the one your great-aunt wanted you to have. If the elf gives us trouble, I'll turn her to stone."

I was shaking my head before she stopped talking. "No. She's right. I led Abigail to them. She's lost her wife. I'm not going back there to bug her."

"You're too soft, kid," she said, grabbing the nearest book. "Have I taught you nothing?" She studied the faint design on the cover. "What are we looking for in these things?"

"Anything I can use to either protect myself or hurt her. I don't care about spells that do anything else. At the moment, I just want spells for battle." I pulled the book I was looking through earlier into my lap. This was nice. I had to keep reminding myself I wasn't alone anymore.

"We need snacks," she said as she poured a refill.

"Good call. Let me see what Dave left in the kitchen." I popped up again and headed for the kitchen.

"Ha! This one's for making a guy's cock drop off." Her cackling followed me into the kitchen.

"Bookmark it!" I shouted back, opening cupboard doors, looking for snacks. I returned to the bar with a large canister of nuts—the ones I put out for customers—the last of the cookies Dave had baked on the last night we were open, and a bag of chips. Dropping them on the table, I said, "There's also ice cream and microwave popcorn in there. I'm not sure if the food in the fridge is still okay, so I didn't chance it."

"This works." Stheno tore open the bag of chips, grabbed a handful, and turned the page.

"Wait! No greasy fingers on rare grimoires!" I ran for napkins and came back with a roll of paper towels.

She grumbled about prissy wolves, but she wiped her fingers before touching the books. "Hey, this one is cool. It can cloak you, for short periods of time."

"Mark it. Honestly, this may be a waste of time. I'm not this kind of wicche, so I may not be able to do these spells, but I want to ask Lydia, see if any of them are within my reach. I did a cleaning spell to get rid of the evil sap from the convent in New Orleans. That worked. And I did an opening-doors one to break the window to let the ghost escape. So I seem to be able to do some spells."

Shrugging, I added, "Before we knew I was a necromancer, Lydia was trying to teach me to be a normal wicche, and I was a dismal failure."

"I could have told you you weren't normal, kid," she cracked, filling up our glasses again. "And we're out."

Pushing the grimoire aside, I took the empty pitcher back to the bar and started mixing again. "I think I'm going to need to call Clive for an extraction when the sun goes down. Walking may be right out by then."

Snickering, Stheno turned the page. "Ooh, I like this one. It forces the truth from a liar's mouth."

"Handy, but probably not a lot of help in a fight."

"Oh, I don't know. The truth can be quite powerful, especially when it's being hidden."

"Good point. Mark it."

It turned out the first grimoire I couldn't read was written in Welsh, which Stheno could read. So, while she searched for spells in that one, I went back to look at some of the pages I'd marked.

"You're Greek. How is it you know Welsh, anyway?" My feet were up on a chair as I flipped through spells. I kept coming back to the one that called spirits to drag away an enemy, trying to figure out how I could make that work for me.

"Thousands of years, sister. You pick up a lot of shit. Didn't I French braid your hair in Lafitte's? I know all kinds of crap. You want me to explain 401(k)s? I can do that, too."

"Not right now, but thanks. So why didn't you ever learn to drive?"

Cringing, she turned the page. "I had a bad experience."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

Ignoring me, she continued scanning the cramped handwriting and flipping pages. Finally, she said, "No."

Thirty minutes later, the snacks were gone and I was behind the bar, mixing another pitcher of blackberry lemon drops. I was also more than a little drunk, but it was just Stheno and me. No one else was here to take advantage of my being impaired. I could sleep in the back or call Clive. Feeling safe and relaxed, I asked Stheno if we should transition to ice cream.

"Fuck yeah we should." She turned the page and continued reading. The drinks weren't affecting her as they were me. Thousands of years building up a tolerance, I supposed.

"Are your sisters going to be pissed you're with me this afternoon?" I was doing a piss-poor job of muddling the blackberries, but whatever. Neither of us were picky about presentation.

"They probably haven't noticed I'm gone." She tipped the chip bag and shook the crumbs into her mouth. "Euryale has a stick so far up her ass, I'm surprised she hasn't ruptured vital organs. Feeling superior takes a lot out of her, so she sleeps most of the day."

I snickered. That was exactly how I'd pegged her older sister.

"And Medusa, shit." Stheno dropped her head back in exhaustion. "Oh my gods, she hoards slights like a dragon does treasure. She remembers every insult, every gesture, every fucking eye roll, and she trots them out daily to prove how put upon she's been her entire life. If I have to hear one more time how my sleeping with her boyfriend ruined her life, I'm gonna lose it!"

I cringed. "Well, jeez, that does sound bad."

"Only when I phrase it the way she does. The truth is she tried to steal my favorite boy toy while I was away. I come home, make a date, and then she's busting into my room, crying about how he's cheating and I'm ruining her life." Stheno shook her head. "The drama. For almost two thousand years, I've had to hear about how I stole her one true love. Typical middle child desperate for attention."

"Wait. She's the middle child? I thought that was you." I poured the fresh lemon juice into the shaker.

"Nope. I'm the baby and the only normal one in the group. Giving them alone time means they get to bitch about me to their heart's content and I don't have to listen."

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and I jumped, my heart in my throat. I wasn't prepared. My brain was too fuzzy to think straight, to defend myself.

Black boots and then jeans. Dave. Blowing out a breath, I slumped against the bar.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" His tone was off. He was always grumpy, but he sounded genuinely angry.

"Fuck off, Demonboy. It's her bar. She can do whatever she wants." Stheno turned the page, never once sparing him a glance.

When he came around the back of the bar, though, she put the grimoire aside and stood.

Clutching a hand to his bald head, he slammed a fist on the bar. "You're not supposed to be here!"

Panicking, I backed slowly away. This was Dave. He'd been my grumpy security blanket for seven years. Now, though, his shark-like black eyes held nothing but hate. Stheno moved in behind him and I held up a hand.

"Don't," I said to her. She couldn't kill him. No matter what Abigail was doing to him, he was Dave.

"Don't what?" he snarled. "Always where you're not supposed to be."

Adrenaline and fear were clearing my head. "You're stronger than she is. Don't let her turn you into a puppet."

"What the hell do you know? Hiding behind your vampire, leaving the rest of us to deal with constant fucking pain and never-ending whispers." He smacked his head again.

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck your sorry. I need it to stop!" he roared, hand whipping out, grabbing me around the neck, and squeezing.

Stheno reached for her eyepatch and I held up my hand again. Dave wasn't dying because of me, not like Martha.

Flames jumped from his arm and I knew what he intended. Unleashing my claws, I raked them down the side of his face, trying to snap him out of Abigail's spell. He didn't flinch at the pain, though sweat had popped out at his temples and his whole body shook. The hand around my neck convulsed, cutting off my air before releasing a hair's breadth, letting it back in again. The fact that I was breathing at all meant he was fighting her.

The flames crawled slowly down his arm, the heat already burning my face. If she'd had complete control of him, I'd be engulfed in flames.

"I'm not just going to stand here and watch him kill you!" Stheno shouted.

I tried to wave her off a last time, but when the flames hit my skin, I screeched, clawing at his arm. I wouldn't kill him. Abigail couldn't force me to kill him. I wrapped myself in my own magic and recited what I could remember of the spell I'd been practicing.

Shadows shot up from the floorboards and swarmed around Dave. He let go. When I dropped to the floor, I scuttled away. Opening and closing his mouth, eyes wide open, he flailed, trying to fight them off, but they swirled ceaselessly around him, slashing his skin and taking little bites.

There was one moment when he seemed to be looking at me—Dave not Abigail—and then the shadows dragged him down and off this plane.

Stheno was crouched beside me. "Can you breathe?"

Air trickled through my crushed, scorched throat, but I could breathe. Sort of. I tried to nod without moving my neck, which was an excruciating mistake.

What was that spell, and what had I done to Dave?