A Demon’s Book Of Shadows (Witches & Demons #1)

27. Lucy

27

Lucy

I followed Amon out of the bar as he attempted to chase down his drunken father. Even though things were about to get hot and heavy before Eugene appeared, I’d sensed hesitation on Amon. Darkness had been pouring out of him, unrestrained darkness that had its own hands gripping for me.

What did the darkness want with me? Was Amon able to control it?

“Shit. He’s like a fucking toddler when he’s drunk,” Amon’s voice stirred me out of my promiscuous fantasy.

Eugene was halfway down the street, chortling off curses as he maneuvered between parking meters and trees. He narrowly missed other pedestrians as he worked through the lunch crowd. Amon’s father was hilarious. He reminded me of a mix of a biker guy, mafia, and a cowboy. His personality was nothing like his reserved firstborn.

A couple of ravens swooped overhead, diving toward the drunken demon. I had no idea where we were going, but it was pretty hilarious watching Amon try to reign in his father .

Amon fell back, apparently giving up, landing into stride next to me. “He knows the way to my shop. It’s best just to give him space when he’s this way.”

“Your shop?” I asked, completely perplexed.

Amon grinned. “It’s right below my apartment.”

As we ventured down a couple more blocks, we stopped at the corner of the street. Eugene slammed his fist on the glass shop door. “Opppen up! I’m heeeeere to get my iiiink on!”

“Dad, I’m right here,” Amon said, sliding up next to him and tugging out a key. He pressed it to the lock and opened the door.

Eugene was the first inside. I stood under the blinking green sign: Shadow Ink’s Tattoo Parlor . I’d passed by this tattoo parlor loads of times, but I had never been inside.

Amon set his hand on my lower back and escorted me through a doorway. The scent of chemicals hit my nose as I followed Eugene into a dim-lit room. I’d only smelled the aroma when I went with Victoria into a tattoo parlor to see if an artist could do something creative with the scar over her missing breast after she had the cancer removed.

The vibe of this place was not like the tattoo parlor Victoria and I visited. An artistic organization lingered in Amon’s space that made me wonder if he really worked here.

“So this is what you spend your time doing when you’re not hunting down grimoires?” I asked as I slid up next to the stack of Inked magazines stacked on one of his tables.

Amon shifted past me, grabbing a jar of something that was much too thick to be ink. “And exorcizing spirits from my intoxicated father? Absolutely.” He busied himself with a stack of sketchbooks, shoving thick pieces of paper here and there. Pencils, paintbrushes, and pans of pigments were scattered everywhere.

I absolutely loved the way his colored pencils and brushes stuck out of recycled paint cans. There were three separate drafting tables spread about the room, each overflowing with art supplies. Amon’s space had completely changed my thoughts of what he did at the end of his day. The demon I had imagined spent his free time harassing witches was oddly, an artist.

Five glass jars were stuffed to the brim with varying shades of dark feathers. They made me think of the gorgeous hues of green and purple iridescence I’d seen on Amon when we were in the shadow archives. “Wow, you really have a lot of feathers.”

“I collect them. I find that bird feathers have all kinds of textures that are far more interesting to paint with than a paintbrush.”

My chest warmed, fuzzy at the thought. Another quirky thing I liked about him. “What species of bird are these feathers from?”

“Mostly ravens, but I’m sure there are a few crow feathers mixed in there. I hear the two mix together quite well,” he replied, winking at me.

Eugene walked to the far wall away from the shop windows, where a collection of portraits hung in black wooden frames. “Wow, you guys aaare looking oooolder than I am. Pretty soooooon, you will aaaaall be wearing diiiiiiiiapers.”

“All right. We’re draining the spirits out of you, now,” Amon barked, grabbing an oddly shaped metal pen .

Eugene sat down on the stool by the table, rolled up his sleeve, set his left arm palm up on the table, then gave his son a wicked grin. “Iiiink me, booooy!”

“What color are we using?” Amon asked as he set his pen down on the table, then tugged on a couple of latex gloves.

“Whateeeeever you feeeeeel helps cooooompliment myyyyy eyes,” Eugene chimed.

“Black it is,” Amon replied. He rolled up his sleeves as he loaded a black ink cartridge into his tattoo pen. It was the first time I got a good solid look at his forearms.

Amon’s skin was covered in black tattoos. Plants, feathers, and even some constellations were strewn in there. The message hidden behind symbols must all translate to something magical.

“Lucy, pull up a seat,” Amon instructed me, eyeing the stool next to him.

I sat down between them facing the wall with the portraits, forming a triangle of me, Eugene, and Amon. I swore one of the portraits winked at me.

Amon held the tattoo pen up over his father’s arm. “Ready?”

“Maaake me prooooud,” Eugene replied, a hint of pride ringing in his gruff voice that just might be sobering up.

Amon pressed the pen to Eugene's forearm, which put off a faint buzzing noise. As he worked on his arm, his own tattoos began to change. A snake emerged, as did thistles and acorns. I blinked. Were those mushrooms ? I had seen the natural symbols for a brief moment in the library when I’d first opened the grimoire. Were the symbols connected to Amon’s shadows ?

If so, why hadn’t I seen them until now?

“ I don’t share my tattoos with just anyone. Powerful shadow magic is housed inside of the symbols. And yes, those are mushrooms. . . ”

My breath caught as Amon’s cool, silky voice blew through me. “ Since when can you read my mind ?”

“ Your magic has connected us somehow. My shadows have been telling me all about your detailed opinions of me .”

I flushed so hard it felt like I might light on fire. How many details did he know when it came to my secret fantasies about him?

Amon chuckled at my panicked thoughts.

“What’s so funny?” Eugene asked.

“I just know that Lucy is going to love this when I’m done.”

I wanted to slap Amon upside the head. I just prayed to the goddess that Eugene wasn’t listening to our dirty conversation too.

“ Don’t let him know that I took you to the shadow archives, got it? If he finds out, he’ll skin me alive .” Amon's voice made my hair stand up. He continued tattooing his father’s arm, keeping his eyes off me as his smirk intensified. “ If you keep fantasizing about me, my shadows will take advantage of you, even if you aren’t practicing your magic .”

Fuck. What if I wanted them to take advantage of me?

Eugene flexed his hand as the needle moved from his wrist toward his elbow. “Feel the burn, embrace the shadow!” he bellowed, spittle flying out of his mouth.

Amon didn’t flinch as his father slammed his feet on the ground. He made circular motions with his pen until Eugene’s skin turned a deep shade of red. Bands of ebony flooded out of his fingers, making me jump.

The ebony shadows dispersed, evaporating before they touched either Amon or I. Eugene unclenched his fist and he stopped slamming his feet.

“Ah, that’s better, son. You sure know how to drain the devil out of a demon’s blood.”

Eugene was a different man after his son’s artistic touch. He held up his arm, grinning madly. “What do you think, Lucy?” He flipped his arm to face me. An image of a raven with a curved beak and hauntingly beautiful eyes stared back at me.

“I can’t believe how much detail there is,” I said, ogling at the feathers and the shine on the raven’s beak.

Amon grabbed a cloth and wiped the blood away. His inkwork was beautiful. What I wouldn’t do to have him mark something like that on me.

Eugene flexed his arm. “That was what, a few minutes? You should see what he can do if he has you for an hour.”

Amon’s face burned red as he began to sanitize the tattoo pen.

Eugene’s eyes weren’t glassy any longer. They found me, mischievousness glinting in them. “Ah, Lucile, is it?”

“Lucy,” I corrected.

“Great. Well, fuck. I feel like a complete idiot. How drunk was I when we first met?”

“Pretty drunk, but I’ve seen worse. My sister can drink like a piranha. She’s a vet who spends her time taking care of familiars. ”

Eugene straightened his collar, where a couple of black feathers sprouted. “Familiars? Wow, she must have a big heart. They are some of the most frustrating creatures to care for. Amon should know. He had a bunch when he was a boy.”

I glanced from father to son, wishing I had more insight. “I always thought demons and familiars were enemies.”

Eugene rapped his fingers along the table. “Historically, we weren’t always that way. The relationship between witches, demons, and familiars has significantly changed since the last Earth Uprising.”

My stomach lurched. Familiars, siding with demons? Grubs would never approve. I tried to picture a childhood Amon with a bunch of bookworms crawling up his legs. “Is this true?” I asked Eugene’s son.

“Not one of my proudest moments,” Amon said as he organized his pigments.

I turned back to Eugene, admiring how his new tattoo was interacting with other tattoos I hadn’t noticed until now. His bicep had three other ravens, all of which had inched down his arm to inspect the newcomer. “How did getting a tattoo sober you up?”

Eugene set both of his hands on the table, splaying his gnarled, scarred fingers, which all had tattoos on them. “Tattoos are a great way to tap into a demon’s blood, as well as the true nature of his shadows.”

Amon shifted a glass toward his father. “Down this now, or you’ll be sick.”

Eugene took the glass. “What is this? ”

“One of Krim’s anti-hangover concoctions I actually trust.”

Eugene downed the liquid, his eyes returning to me after he slammed the glass down on the counter. The tattoos on his bicep burst into the air, manifesting as two birds. Their faces were no longer two-dimensional, but bulging with feathers. Their eyes were liquid ebony, shimmering with personality.

“Who do we have here?” I asked.

“Anger and Sadness,” Eugene replied as he held out his forearm. “They’re spirit familiars.”

“You mean dead familiars?”

“You tell me if they are dead or not. Spirits often display a whole new appreciation for life.”

Anger and Sadness perched on Eugene’s shoulders, their feathered heads swiveling to inspect Amon’s new tattoo creation. They started to chatter with one another in a language that I couldn’t understand.

“Would you get them out of there?” Amon said, tossing his arm into the air.

Anger and Sadness stayed put, digging their talons into their owner’s shoulders.

I stared at them, completely confused at the situation. “I didn’t know that demons also had familiars. Considering how mine has always talked about demons, I thought they were only a witch’s companion.”

Eugene roared with laughter, his eyes bulging at my statement. “Loyal to witches in life, their souls become loyal demon companions in death. ”

Suddenly, I knew where Amon’s “ life found in death ” beliefs had come from. Who would have thought that spirit familiars were involved?

The two birds had completely caught my attention with their frilling necks and intelligent chatter. “My sister Victoria would love this. She’s always wondered where the spirits of familiars went when they died. Why are they named Anger and Sadness?”

Eugene shrugged. “Sadness comes and goes as he pleases. But Anger, he’s here to stay. His talons are much stronger than Sadness’s. I’ve gotten too many scars from him gripping on my shoulder when he’s in one of his foul moods.”

Anger’s head tilted sideways as his ink-drop eyes found me, seeming to peer into my soul.

“Their names remind me of a quote from C. S. Lewis. He said that he sat with his anger long enough that she shared her true name was really grief,” I said.

Eugene’s eyes softened. “Sounds pretty accurate for Anger’s personality.”

Anger took off, flapping his transparent wings until he perched on a shelf hanging by one of the portraits.

Eugene folded his arms. “I had Amon paint every single member of our family who has worked in the shadow archives.”

“You painted these?” I asked, amazed at the details in the eyes, noses, even the slivers of gray hair. For monochromatic black and whites, Amon is an incredible master of light and shadow. Amon’s artwork was exactly the style I had fantasized about having illustrated in my children’s book. Crystal the witch was all about experimenting with the darker places found in nature. Yet now all I could think about was the other darker, longer, bulging pieces of Amon that were nowhere near appropriate for a children’s picture book.

As I studied the ink portraits of the demons’ faces, I started to see more differences than similarities in them. Maybe their bloodline was just as convoluted as witches.

I’d also noticed something very concerning. All of the subjects were male. There were no female demons.

Eugene was already across the room, eyeing the different tools his son used to create art with. “All of my sons work normal jobs you witches seem to forget are important. It’s the price we pay to get closer to you witches. The backbone of human society would snap had it not been for our presence.”

I clasped my hands, twisting my fingers together. “Enliven me.”

“We’re the creative minds. The artistic influences—the catalysts behind change. We don’t tend to go with the designated grain in any way humans deem necessary, so most of the time we blend in, undetected.”

“How come?”

Eugene set his elbows on the table. “You witches think you have it hard with being persecuted? Try being a demon. We cope by raising magical barriers around our lives so that we can exist alongside witches and humans peacefully.”

“How does a magical barrier work?” I asked.

“It’s a simple memory trick, what most witches call a charm.” Eugene’s eyes drifted to the portraits. “Each of the portraits has a different spell housed in the shadow ink that helps camouflage the walls of this building on which they are hung.”

I gazed out the windows, noticing a few men lighting up their cigarettes outside. “They don’t know we’re here, do they?”

“Nope,” Amon replied. “To them, we’re just an alleyway, or a field. Krim can do the same thing with Shadow Daddy’s. Why do you think it’s the bar in town that has a reputation for not having a lot of business?”

“Because humans temporarily forget it exists?”

“Exactly.”

Eugene grabbed one of the magazines and flipped through it. “Speaking of business, I don’t get why you don’t have more customers, Amon. Human artists don’t have the magical touch us demons do.”

My body heated at Eugene’s words. I’d been cravings his son’s callused fingers. I studied Amon as he gathered more of his tattoo supplies, for this apparent creative tattooing ritual that was commonplace between demons.

My curiosity returned to the male portraits on the wall. “Are there any female demons? Or are you all just dudes?”

Eugene shook his head. “No female demons exist. They did historically, but they went extinct well before my time. This is why we are so attracted to witches. You are the fertile vessel that carries on our demonic bloodline.”

“Why are you acting like Lucy cares about our bloodlines?” Amon cut in .

“She asked, didn’t she?” Eugene flexed his arm while his dark eyes twinkled mischievously. “You witches are the reason us demons still exist. I was happily married to one for the best years of my life.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

Eugene’s face thinned, his wide cheekbones appearing sunken. “That’s a story far too long to understand properly. It deals with a council most witches don’t like to discuss, one that performs regulations on the shadow archives.”

I blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Eugene folded his arms again over his chest as he dodged my question about his late wife. “I guess it’s time that I tell you about the news, Amon.” His voice shook. “My face won’t be joining your relatives up there after I move on.”

Puzzlement took over Amon’s expression. “What do you mean?”

Eugen’s throat bulged. “I no longer work for the demon council.”

Amon’s eyes dilated as he rounded on his father. “Is that why you’re back in town?”

“Yes,” Eugene admitted.

Confusion riddled Amon’s expression. “What did you do? Quit?”

“ Quit ? Are you kidding me?” Eugene roared, his voice filling the parlor. Anger and Sadness jumped into the air, sending feathers everywhere. “You really think I would quit after everything I’ve done for you boys and your mother?” He sat back down, folding into his chair. “No, the elders fired me.”

Amon’s mouth opened and closed a few times before words escaped. “Fired one of their most experienced record-keepers? ”

Eugene’s eyes swiveled to me before they found his enraged son again. “About that, I might have fudged some magical records on the Ravenblood’s behalf.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Amon, you haven’t lived with the backlash like I have. I’ve defended the magic witches practice for too long. There are other demons who are far more ancient and powerful than your father.”

Amon’s nostrils flared. His temple throbbed. His aura, the silky coolness of it, was no longer calm. Ebony bands branched out of his biceps and shoulders, making Anger and Sadness dive.

I reached out to comfort Amon, grabbing his forearm. His skin was too hot to touch.

He tore away from me. “This is really fucking bad. If the demon council doesn’t have Eugene Ravenblood to keep their heads level with what demons they let inside the shadow archives, just imagine what else might get in.”

Eugene’s eyes darkened. “I’ve encountered plenty of dark and devious demons in my time. Wendigos are just the beginning, and their kind is spreading. Pretty soon, this is going to be a big magical mess.” He turned to face Amon. “Your mother had talents that could have put an end to all of this cannibalistic business, remember? That’s what I was trying to prevent from being overwritten, but I fudged too much and got caught.”

Before I could chime in, Amon’s shadows coalesced around me. I was encased in his darkness as Eugene and his two ravens disappeared .

“ I will make sure you are safe from the Bone Threader. But right now, I need to spend some time alone with my father, ” Amon whispered to me as his tattoo parlor evaporated.

“ Amon, please don’t shut me out ,” I whispered back.

Judging from the silence, I knew he already had. Solid ground met my feet as my bedroom manifested. A black feather was all I had left of the demon who I wished would share more with me about himself.