Demonglass (12 page)

J
enna and I hung out in the garden until early evening. Once we were back at the house, she went in search of Vix while I decided to go hang out in my room for a while. As I climbed the stairs, Lara met me coming down. “Oh, Sophie, I was just looking for you,” she said, forcing a ginormous brown book into my hand. “Your father wanted me to give this to you. He asked that you read as far as you can tonight.”

I read the title stamped on the cover:
Demonologies: A History
.

“Oh. Um…yay. Thanks for this.” I tried to lift the book in a kind of salute, but it was way too heavy for that. In fact, when I got back up to my room and tossed it on the bed, the mattress creaked in protest.

I opened my laptop and mindlessly surfed the Internet for a while, but my eyes just drifted over the screen without reading anything. There was something else on my mind.

Snapping the computer shut, I walked over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. I stared down at the coin, but before I could pick it up, Jenna came flying into my room, Vix in tow.

I slammed the drawer, hoping neither of them noticed my pounding heart.

But Jenna’s attention was on the book on my bed. “Wow, Soph, that’s some heavy summer reading right there.”

“Yeah,” I said, walking over to pick it up. I winced slightly as I hefted it into my arms. “Just some demon homework from Dad.”

“We were just about to head down to dinner,” Jenna said. “You wanna come with?”

I glanced back and forth between the two vampires. I’d had Jenna all to myself for most of the afternoon, so it’s not like I minded sharing. Still, seeing them beam at each other and throw “we” around reminded me just how crappy my love life was. “Nah, I actually think I’ll just chill up here tonight. Get started on some of this reading.”

Jenna raised a pale eyebrow. “Sophie Mercer, turning down food for homework?”

“Yeah, it’s the new, lamer, more Britisher me.”

Jenna and Vix laughed at that and, after making me promise to hang out with them tomorrow, practically waltzed out the door. I felt like there should have been rainbows and rose petals in their wake or something.

Ugh. That was catty.

Jenna deserved rainbows and rose petals, I reminded myself as I flopped back on my bed, Dad’s book bumping painfully against my sternum. After everything she’d been through, Jenna had earned an eternity of nothing but good stuff. So why did seeing her with Vix make me want to brain myself with
Demonologies: A History
? I looked at the nightstand again and sighed. Then I opened the heavy book and tried to make myself read.

For the next few hours I made a valiant attempt to get through Chapter One.

For a book that was supposedly about fallen angels running around and creating havoc with their super-awesome dark “magycks,” it was awfully boring, and all the weird spellings definitely didn’t help.

Sighing, I settled deeper into my pillows. As I shifted the book, trying to rest it on my upraised knees, a sheet of paper fell into my lap.

I cringed, thinking it was one of the pages, but then I realized the paper was a lot whiter, and not nearly as musty smelling.

It was a note.

I recognized Dad’s handwriting immediately from all the impersonal birthday cards he’d sent over the years. They’d always been pink and glittery—and I now realized that Lara must have bought them—and he’d always just signed them “Your father.” Never a little message or even his own “happy birthday.”

This note wasn’t much warmer. All it said was, “Be prepared to discuss this book and all that you have read tomorrow—Your father.”

“Yeah,
Father
, I’ll be sure to do that,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Did he really need to write me a note to tell me that? And why had he’d stuck it around page three hundred? Because if he thought I was reading that far tonight, that was pretty freaking optimistic of him.

I sighed and was going to crumple up the note, when suddenly the words on the page
moved
. Vibrated, actually.

I rubbed my eyes, thinking I’d been reading for too long, but when I looked back at the note, the letters were still shaking. And then they started sliding around. A lot of them slid down to the bottom of the page, but the rest gathered together to spell out an entirely different message:

The bookcase. Five a.m.

It was Dad’s handwriting again, and as I watched, the discarded letters slipped up the page until the original message was back in place.

“Cryptic Dad is cryptic,” I muttered. There was no doubt in my mind which bookcase he meant—the one holding Virginia Thorne’s grimoire. But why the spells and secrecy? We’d hung out all morning. Was there no time in there he could have said, “Oh, hey, meet me at the magical bookcase at the butt-crack of dawn tomorrow, cool?”

And what the heck did he want to do at that bookcase?

By now, my eyes felt like I’d rubbed sand in them, and it occurred to me that between the Prodigium club, Archer, and everything with Dad today, this was turning out to be the least relaxing vacation ever. I looked around my palatial room, and for just a second I wished I were back at Hecate Hall, sitting on my tiny bed, laughing with Jenna.

But Jenna was down the hall, either hanging out with Vix or sleeping, and I was on my own.

I put the book on my nightstand, surprised that the weight of it didn’t break the tiny piece of furniture. Mom always said there are few things in life that can’t be cured by a hot bath, and I decided to test her on that advice.

A few minutes later, I was up to my chin in hot, soapy water.

I ran my big toe over the faucet, which was made to look like a golden swan. I guess it was supposed to be classy, but it just looked like the swan was vomiting water into the tub, which was a pretty gross thought. Plus, baths always made me think of Chaston, nearly bleeding to death in one of the creepy tubs at Hecate.

Despite the heat of the water, I shuddered. I hadn’t seen Chaston again after that night. Her parents had come to get her, and they’d pulled her out of school for the rest of the year. I wondered what she was doing now, if she even knew about Anna and Elodie.

I was just reaching for my towel when I heard a muffled thump from my bedroom. My fingers froze and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. In scary movies, this was always the part where the naked girl called out, “Hello?” or “Who’s there?” or something equally stupid. But
this
naked girl wasn’t announcing her presence to anyone. Instead, I soundlessly pulled my towel off the rack and wrapped it around me before creeping to the door and pressing my ear against it.

Other than my own heartbeat, I couldn’t hear anything. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my robe from the back of the door. Clearly, the bath—and thoughts of Chaston—had spooked me. If there was anyone in my bedroom, it was probably just one of the army of servants fluffing my pillow. Maybe leaving me a chocolate mint.

Knotting the robe’s sash around my waist, I opened the door. My room was empty, and I blew out a long breath.

“Way to be lame, Sophie,” I muttered as I crossed the bedroom to the dresser. This place was like the Prodigium version of Fort Knox. The idea that anyone would be in my bedroom, being all nefarious, was completely—

I heard the sound again—another thump, this one a lot louder. And then I realized that it was coming from my nightstand.

Blood pounded in my ears as I ran over to the small table and yanked open the drawer.

Sure enough, the gold coin was thumping around in there like it was alive. How the heck did this work? Archer had said he’d use it to find me, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what that actually meant. Maybe the coin was a type of portable portal, and he was about to poof into my bedroom in a cloud of smoke or something.

That thought—Archer literally putting himself in the middle of a whole bunch of people who wanted to kill him—was too horrible to contemplate. I closed my fingers around the coin, drawing in a sharp breath at how hot it was.

Suddenly, it was like a screen fell over my eyes, and I could see the abandoned corn mill. The alcove that led to the Itineris. Archer was sitting there next to it, in the low windowsill.

Waiting for me.

Dropping the coin on the bedside table, I turned toward the dresser. I’d grab a pair of jeans, that long-sleeved black shirt I’d brought. If I were quiet enough, I could probably get out of the house without even trying to come up with an excuse—

Then I thought of Dad, pale and serious, telling me how important it was that I never see Archer again. I thought of how proud of me he’d been today, of what might happen to him if anyone caught me sneaking out to see an Eye.

Of Council Headquarters, burning down with seven Council members still inside.

I reached into the open dresser drawer, but instead of my jeans, I took out my nightshirt. Once I’d slipped it on, I climbed into bed and flipped out the light, fumbling for the coin in the darkness. As I clutched it in my fist, I saw Archer again. He was standing up now, pacing and rubbing his hand over his jaw. He kept glancing toward the door.

Tears wet the hair at my temples.

At least I knew he was alive. At least I knew he hadn’t been trying to kill me. That was enough. It had to be.

Archer waited for me a long time. Longer than I’d thought he would. It was past midnight when he gave one last look at the door, then finally disappeared into the alcove. I held the coin even tighter, but as soon as Archer was gone, it went cold, and the vision faded to black.

F
ive a.m. came very early the next morning, especially for someone who’d spent most of the night crying. And when I had slept, it had been fitfully. I kept jolting awake, sure someone was in the room with me. Once, I even thought I caught a flash of red hair, but I must have been dreaming.

My head throbbed, and I practically had to pry my swollen eyes open when my alarm went off. But despite that, I felt better—lighter—as I went down to meet Dad. Yes, it still hurt to think about Archer, but I’d done the right thing. I’d put Dad and Jenna and, heck, pretty much all of Prodigium society ahead of what I wanted, and if that wasn’t showing “leadership ability,” I didn’t know what was.

So I was pretty proud of myself by the time I made my way up the library steps and over to the bookcase.

Dad, sadly, was not feeling the same way. “I said five,” he hissed as soon as I rounded the corner. “It is now five-fifteen.” He looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep either. His suit wasn’t wrinkled, exactly, but it wasn’t as pristine as usual. Also, he hadn’t shaved, which freaked me out almost as much as the intensity in his eyes.

Surprised, I blinked at him. “Sorry—” I replied, but he held up his hand and whispered, “Keep your voice down.”

“Why?” I whispered back. We stood on either side of the bookcase, Virginia Thorne’s grimoire looking every bit as ominous as it had that first day. “What are we doing in here?”

Dad glanced around like someone might be listening to us, before saying, “We’re going to open this bookcase and remove the grimoire.”

Now I wasn’t surprised so much as shocked. “No way,” I shot back. “This thing is enchanted to hell and back—maybe
literally
.”

Dad closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like he was having to physically restrain himself from yelling. “Sophie,” he said slowly. “I can’t do this alone. The magic sealing this case is too strong even for me. But if both of us were to try…well, I think we could do it.”

“Why?” I asked. “You said yourself that the grimoire is filled with the most ancient, darkest magic in the world. So what do you want it for?”

Another deep breath. “Academic reasons.”

Anger rushed through me, and I felt my magic start to rise up. “If you want my help so much, tell me the truth.”

“This is extremely dangerous business, and I think it’s better for you if you know as little as possible. That way, if we’re—if we’re caught, you can honestly say you didn’t know what I was doing.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I am so sick of people lying to me, or only telling me half of what I need to know. You said yesterday that it was time I started learning about the ‘family business,’ and I gave up Ar…a lot for you, and for the Council. So tell me what’s going on.”

It was Dad’s turn to look surprised. For a moment, I thought he might just call the whole thing off. But then he nodded and said, “Fair enough. I told you that the Council had been trying to raise a demon for hundreds of years before Virginia finally located this book.” He gestured to the grimoire. “After Alice, the Council agreed that the magic was too dangerous, and the book was locked in this case. Ever since then, no one’s been able to do a possession ritual. But now…”

“Daisy and Nick,” I murmured.

“Exactly.”

“So what? You think someone took the grimoire out and used that spell to make Daisy and Nick demons?”

Dad ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time, I noticed that his fingers were trembling. “No, it’s not that. This case is exceedingly difficult to open. I just want to see the ritual itself, what’s required for a possession spell. If I knew exactly
what
had been done to Daisy and Nick, then maybe it would help me figure out
who
did it to them. And why.”

It sounded like a rational enough explanation, but, to be honest, it still scared the crap out of me. Unleashing a book that contained the darkest magic in the whole wide world could never be seen as a good thing, you know? But I didn’t say that to Dad. Instead, I asked, “Okay, so how do we get it open if it’s so ‘exceedingly difficult’?”

Dad laid a hand on top of the case. “Brute strength, basically. The case requires all twelve of the Council members to unlock it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Okay, well, since there are only two of us, and only one of us is a Council member—”

Shaking his head, Dad cut me off. “No, technically, we’re both Council members. You’re the heir apparent to the head of the Council, ergo—”

“Dad, it is way too early to be using words like ‘ergo.’ And even if I am a Council member, that still leaves us ten people short.”

“Yes, well, that’s where the brute strength part comes in. Between our combined powers and the blood, it should open for us.”

“Blood?” I echoed faintly.

Dad looked grim as he pulled a short silver dagger out of his suit jacket. “I told you, blood magic is very ancient and very powerful. Now give me your hand. We don’t have much time.”

The light from outside was beginning to turn more golden than blue-gray, and I knew the house would be waking up soon.

I also knew that I really, really didn’t want to give Dad my hand.

“This is why you worked with me yesterday, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “You wanted to make sure I could do this without blowing the library to smithereens in the process.”

Something washed over Dad’s face, and I hoped it was guilt. “It wasn’t the only reason, Sophie,” he replied.

“Okay, but please remember that I still broke a lot of mirrors yesterday. Shouldn’t we wait until I’ve had a little more practice?”

Dad shook his head. “Yesterday afternoon, The Eye attempted a raid on Gevaudan.”

It took me a moment to remember that that was the name of the fancy shapeshifter school in France. “Time is no longer a luxury we can afford,” Dad said. Then he moved the blade over his left palm in one quick flash. I gasped, and he laid his now-bloody hand on top of the bookcase. His blood trickled over the runes carved into the glass, flowing into them. As it did, the markings began to glow with golden light. Inside its box, the book seemed to shudder a little.

I waited for my newfound psychic feelings to kick in, telling me what a horrible idea this was. But there was nothing. Yeah, I felt kind of sick, but I think that was more about the blood than any terrible feelings of dread.

“Sophie,” Dad said, holding out the dagger. “Please.”

I thrust out my hand before I had time to think about it, giving him the palm that was already scarred by demonglass. The pain was bright and quick, and not nearly as bad as I’d thought it would be. Following Dad’s lead, I put my hand next to his on the case, even as I winced, remembering how hot it had been last time.

But there was no heat. I felt the magic covering it, and my powers surged in response. “Now what?” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off my own blood as it flowed into the runes. As it did, the golden light got brighter.

“Do what we did yesterday,” Dad said, his voice low and even. “Picture a human memory. A human emotion.”

Suddenly, I saw Archer sitting in the window of the corn mill again, and a sense of longing flooded through me. Almost instantly, at least a dozen books flew off the shelf nearest to me, the force breaking their spines and sending pages fluttering all around us.

“Something else!” Dad hissed, raising panicked eyes to mine.

“S-sorry, sorry,” I stammered, shaking my head like my brain was an Etch A Sketch that could erase Archer.

Think calm, happy thoughts. Mom. That time you went to the carnival when you were eight, and she let you ride the Ferris wheel over and over again. Laughing. The twinkling lights, the smell of funnel cakes.

My heartbeat slowed, and I felt my powers curl up inside me, safe, ready to be directed.

“Much better.” Dad sighed with relief. “Now, focus on the case and just think
Open
.”

I took long slow breaths and did just that. My hand was starting to feel cold, and I had the unsettling sense that the case was somehow
drinking
my blood. My knees went wobbly at the thought, and I rapidly blinked my eyes, trying to clear the gray fog that was threatening to overwhelm me. I had teleported, and made things appear out of thin air. I had
flown
, for God’s sake. I wasn’t going to faint opening a stupid glass box.

Still, I’d never felt anything like this, even when doing those hard-core spells. My magic didn’t feel like it was rushing from my feet so much as trickling. And even though my teeth were shattering like I was freezing, I was drenched in sweat.

My fingers were numb, and my hand looked awfully pale, but I kept pressing it to the box. But other than the glowing, bloody runes, nothing seemed to be happening.

Across the case, Dad didn’t look quite as wrung out as I felt. “It’s more than just the case,” he said, his hand slipping on the bloody glass. His voice was ragged. “It’s the book, too.”

The gray spots were getting bigger. “What do I focus on, then?” I whispered. I wasn’t trying to stay quiet; whispering was all I had the strength for.

“Both of them,” Dad answered. “Picture the case opening, and the book in your hands. And don’t lose sight of your human memory.”

My head felt too heavy to hold up anymore, and I lowered my forehead to the case. “That’s a whole lot of stuff to picture, Dad.”

“I know it is, Sophie, but you can do it.”

So I did. I kept Mom’s face in mind, all the while focusing on the case, and the grimoire, and trying very hard not to focus on how woozy and drained I was feeling.

And then—finally—the glass started to move.

“That’s it,” Dad murmured, his eyes bright in his haggard face. “Almost there.”

I’d expected the glass to open, or for maybe one side of it to fall off or something. Instead, it just vanished, like a bubble popping. It was so abrupt that both mine and Dad’s hands fell to the wooden shelf with a loud slap.

Dad reached out and grabbed the book, which looked like any other old, dusty book now that it was out of its magical case. The black leather cover was dulled with age, and it smelled like ancient paper and mold.

As Dad flipped through the book, my knees gave out. I slipped to the floor and leaned against the nearest bookcase. I felt like I was watching Dad from a distance, or like I was in a dream. I glanced down at my hand and wondered if the rest of me was as chalky white as it was.

“Oh my God,” Dad breathed. I felt like I should probably be alarmed by how freaked out he looked, but even that was too much effort.

“What is it?” I muttered drowsily.

He raised panicked eyes to me, but it was like he didn’t even see me at first. “It’s the ritual, it’s—Sophie!”

As I lurched sideways and gave in to unconsciousness, the last thing I saw was the book falling to the floor, its cover opening to reveal a jagged edge of paper.

A page had been ripped out.