Chapter Two

Manon

Idon’t know why I’m in a little witch’s bedroom, but she’s cute, so I won't complain. She doesn’t look like the creatures I usually call master. Power-hungry men and monsters are my forte, my bread and butter, but if a tiny goth human wants to play too, then I’m down. She tugs at the neckline of her velvet dress as she paces back and forth, clearly debating what to do, even though she had been the one to call me here. The lace trim of her dress swishes as she moves, and my eyes are drawn down to her long legs. I really like the over the knee socks she’s wearing and for a moment, I wonder if her pale skin is just as perfect and porcelain beneath all the black she’s wearing.

I’d been minding my own business in the demon realm, enjoying the beginnings of an orgy, when I’d heard my summoning incantation. I was curious, since it had been a while since I’d been to the human world. As I’d debated stepping through the veil, I’d caught the scent of something…delicious. Following it had been an impulsive act.

Opening my hands, I let flames lick upward from my palms. “I promise I am perfectly big, bad and powerful enough for whatever it is you need. Fame? Money? Power? Slaughtering your enemies? I’m your demon.”

The woman pauses, and I let my powers reach out, like ripples in the air. I can sense something, something not quite right about the little witch. I’ll need to take a closer look.

“And what do I need to give you in return? For our bargain? My soul?”

Crossing my arms so that my tits look even bigger, I laugh. I notice the way her eyes tracked my chains, resulting in the faint hint of pink on her cheekbones or the tips of her ears. The little spellcaster might look all stern and scary with her blazing green eyes narrowed at me and her mouth pulled into a straight line, but there was no ignoring the curiosity in her gaze.

“Woah. Slow down, my little ghoulfriend. Like girlfriend, get it?”

The blush deepens as she glances away. I tilt my head to the side. “Bargaining away your soul is a huge commitment, and to be honest…rarely worth the deal.”

Letting my feet finally touch the floor, avoiding the bloody sigils, I step towards her. “How old are you anyway? Are you even old enough to be summoning demons?”

“I’m twenty-one!”

Her protests are funny as she checks her salt circle, trying to ensure her safety. As if that could hold me back. Oh sweet, sweet innocent witch.

“Hmmmm, you don’t look it, my spooky sidekick. But what do I know? Human ages are but raindrops in an ocean.”

I hop over the salt, summon myself a glass and let her watch with her mouth open as I use her silly little circle to salt the rim. With a click of my fingers, the tumbler fills with a margarita mix. Perching on the edge of her bed, I ask, “What is it exactly you want, my little midnight snack?”

She stares down at me, and I decide I like the gleam in her eyes. Determination. “I want power. Magic.”

Arching my brow, I sip my cocktail, swirling the bitterness around my mouth before swallowing. When the glass is empty, I simply make it disappear. “But…you have it.”

“I can’t cast spells. I can’t transform.”

The muscle in her jaw ticks as if she’s announcing some horrible flaw. “There’s something wrong with me.”

Frowning, I wave my hand over my wicked little witch. My vision turns a coppery color, and I can see her magic as plain as day, thrumming away inside her.

Witches do not create magic or power from inside themselves like demons and other creatures can. They can harness it instead, mold it. They work with demons to enhance their power wielding abilities sometimes, but like any skill, it still takes time and dedication. Demons also only get involved when it’s mutually agreeable, so persuading a demon can be a skill in itself.

Witches are vessels, weavers and creators. The little blossoming belladonna before me is a veritable tapestry of magic. It was there. Entwined into her blood, looped through her flesh. Buried deep inside her. She was a legacy witch, someone who has had power passed down. Hmmmm, curious.

Summoning her closer, my eyes are drawn to what look like…knots. Tangles and snags in the weaving of her fabric.

With a flick of my wrist, I tug on one of the threads, willing the knot to come undone, but it doesn’t budge.

“Oh,”

I sigh softly as I examine the knot closer. It’s being bound by another’s magic. Her powers are being dampened deliberately. “That is interesting.”

What powers lurk inside her that someone would bind her so tightly that she, and others, cannot even sense the magic flowing beneath the surface. Who has done this to her?

“What?”

She moves her dainty hands over her body as if she’s checking for something, not realizing that I am looking beyond the physical.

This close, my nose catches hints of something earthy and rich. It reminds me of the forest after the rain, when the sun breaks through the boughs to bathe the soil. I want to revel in it, taste it on my tongue. Why does she smell like…life?

“How about we make our deal something a little less soul-destroying?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I let my eyes flutter shut as I inhale deeply. When I open them again, she’s inched even closer. Green eyes locked on mine. “I will work with you to access your powers, in exchange for a look at your family grimoire.”

The witch narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “Why are you being so generous?”

“Because knowledge is power. Also, I’m unsure where this little agreement is about to lead us.”

I play with a lock of my hair, wrapping the pink strands around my fingers. Twirling and un-twirling, while she continues to glare. “The payoff will be better if you become powerful. Then we can strike a bigger bargain.”

It’s not a lie. If I can de-tangle the mess she’s in, more magic and power will move through her and I can harness some of that. Feed off it, even.

My tail swishes behind me, drawing her attention. “How does that sound, Poppy?”

Her focus snaps back to me. “How do you know…”

“Demon. Powerful demon.”

I wave my hands, as if I’m performing some sort of magic trick—et voilà, here’s the rabbit from my hat kind of shit. Snorting, I finally admit, “And it’s written on your notebook.”

There are stacks of books piled up on the floor and on the bedside table. Several of which have her name, neatly written in cursive. Poppy Alderidge. I may not know her, but I know of her family. They’ve worked with demons for centuries, which means her family spell book is no doubt filled with delicious little snippets of power.

Tilting her head, I see the corner of her mouth lift ever so slightly. She finds me amusing, even if she isn’t ready to admit it.

“Now,”

I say, spreading my legs in readiness for her. “We need to seal the deal. Come here.”