Chapter 1. Summoning Is a Delicate Business
Chapter 1. Summoning Is a Delicate Business
Twisted horns scraped the ceiling of the cramped little room in my grandmother’s forest cottage.
“You... you will obey me, demon!” I shrieked and, just in case, leaped back.
The leap didn’t amount to much. The room’s the size of a palm. And the demon turned out to be pushing ten feet tall, so my chin trembled with fear against my will. Especially since I’m short — just five-foot-one, mid-jump and in my favorite boots.
Get the picture? The odds definitely weren’t in my favor. Yeah, I got it too! Got it with every inch of my five-foot-one — got it that I’d landed in fresh trouble.
“Obey?” he repeated, as if tasting the word on his tongue, and smirked.
The fangs in that smirk turned out to be very... thorough. I shuddered again. Okaay. Easy, Zara. You calculated everything right, I coaxed myself like a coward, while barely holding the demon’s gaze so as not to completely fall flat on my face.
I’d actually been aiming to summon a middling little imp. Some good-for-nothing bureaucrat of a devilkin, the sort that’ll cuckold anyone for a fistful of dried wormwood and scurry off pleased as punch. Calling them is like luring sparrows with crumbs: they’ll swarm, just leave out the grain. But instead of someone I could at least push around a little, this one answered. Tall as a house, with eyes the color of smoldering coals.
Brrr, how terrifying!
Why am I so unlucky? Huh? All I wanted was some revenge for a witch’s wounded soul, that’s all! I thought it over and decided it was Grandma’s fault, as always. Rest her soul.
She taught me: “When you call, call with all your heart.” So I called! With all my widowed... well, divorced... in short, all my aching soul.
Overdid it! I got divorced a month ago. If you can call it that, and not “carried out of the house feet-first in whatever I had on, with a kick for extra speed” — after my no-good husband robbed me of everything I’d earned and even swiped a piece of my power.
My ex-husband, Roderick, was a known figure in the capital. A mage, an advisor, and a terror to whoever had it coming. And at home, a tyrant like you’d have to search for. And, as it turned out, a diligent tomcat on top of it. Tried every day and every night and never wore himself out. May everything down there shrivel to nothing!
I found out about the other women last, of course — as wives always do.
I filed for divorce the second I found out, but I lost everything anyway. The court, naturally, he won. The house signed over to his line. The money all in his name too. Even Grandma’s grimoire drifted off as “jointly acquired property.” I got the dress on my back and a lopsided wreck by the water at the very edge of town.
What I kept was the stuff you can’t split in a divorce: blood, a witch’s word, and a whole, whole lot of desire for revenge. Only I can’t curse Roderick with my own power. He’s got a family shield — a heirloom trinket that makes any hex bounce off like peas off a wall. This called for someone... more serious.
So I called up someone “more serious.” God help me.
“You’re not an imp,” I clarified, doomed, tipping my chin up higher. Otherwise I’d have been staring at the demon’s belt buckle.
“Not an imp,” he agreed with outrageous pleasure.
“And not a devilkin.”
“And not a devilkin.”
“Could I... send you back? And call a devilkin instead?”
The demon burst out laughing. So loudly the candle flame ducked in fright and dust rained from the ceiling.
“You can’t, Cherry!” He drew in a breath with relish, swelling his chest even bigger.
Cherry! I grimaced again at the childhood nickname. What is it with all of them and the color of my hair! For as long as I can remember, every unclean thing would take one look at me, start sniffing, and call me “Cherry.” But more on that later. Right now I’ve got business.
“Listen here, horns!” I crossed my arms, trying to look fearsome and not like a wet sparrow in a circle of ash. “Simple job. One... dog.”
I stumbled, waited for the lump of bitter tears to pass, and went on:
“I need one idiot cursed into impotence. Permanently! I pay well! I can hand over a vial of my witch’s blood right now.”
I nodded at the very vial swaying in my right hand. I know it’s like an elixir for the horned kind when they’re magically drained. So I’d prepared everything in advance. Enough for anyone. The demon tilted his head. The coals in his eyes flared brighter.
“Anyone? That’d be enough for any demonic mutt, little witch, but not for me.”
There came a loud clap, and the wings behind his back flung open like a tent, bony spurs shattering the windows.
The bastard!
“Grant me one night, and I’ll open a portal to a new world at your wish. Just say the word.”
He licked his lips and sniffed again. And this was where I should’ve gotten wary. Agreed too easily, asked for too little. But revenge so clouded my eyes that somehow I didn’t stop to wonder why a ten-foot killing machine was smiling at me sweetly, like I’d promised him jam. Didn’t give myself a single second to think. Nodded right away and sealed the intention with my blood. The demon flicked a claw at once, and the little room folded like a sheet of paper. Through the trembling transparent wall, I suddenly saw them.
Roderick. And the one he’d traded me for. Caught them, frankly, at the worst possible moment. My ex was reveling in someone else’s charms with such savagery that I threw up right where I stood.
Ugh, gross, I spat mentally, and swore off ever recalling this scene.
The demon was pleased about something. He studied my face a moment longer, while I looked at my ex-husband, naked on the rug before the fireplace, and his lover. Then he bared his teeth again and snapped his fingers. My ex — a terror to whoever had it coming — discovered, in what you might call the sweetest moment, that the storm had passed. The family shield cracked and crumbled as if it had never been. Turns out heirloom trinkets don’t work so well against a high demon.
I confess: for about three seconds I did admire the dog’s confusion and panic. Confirmed that from now on nothing but a useless, shriveled stub would dangle in his trousers, and burst out laughing.
An unimaginable pleasure of justice served pierced through me. Serves him right! Now he’ll be licking his lips like a cat at the cream, only nothing’ll work for him anymore. Forever and ever. I exhaled. Eight years crumbled to ash at my feet. Time to move on.
“Well, thanks for the work,” I said briskly, brushing off my hem. “Contract fulfilled, you can go back where you—”
“Halfway,” the demon corrected gently. “I gave my part. And you, Cherry, still owe me one hot night. And an heir. Remember?”
What heir now? I nearly plopped down right where I stood. Thought it over and decided: like hell — no night, no heir for him!
I had a better plan — pack my things and quietly vanish. Under cover of night, like all respectable debtors. Which is exactly what I did. If only I’d known then that you don’t run from a high demon. If only I’d known that to him I smell of ripe cherries, and he’d follow that trail to the edge of the realm, to the afterlife, to the devil’s own horns. But I didn’t know. And so I whistled almost cheerfully, stuffing my last dress into a sack, and then set off to relax at the hot springs.
