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

34. Amon

34

Amon

It took all of my strength to rip my shadows away from Lucy’s body when her sister showed up. The air smelled of burning rubber as I entered my tattoo parlor. Jars of ink hovered in the air, bewitched with the seductive aura Lucy left.

I had a problem. Having shadow-twisting sex with Lucy had only made it worse. My tattoos had rediscovered themselves, threading together like they were meeting each other for the first time. But I knew it was a warning for the mess to come. My tattoos were an expression of my soul, and right now they were doing something they hadn’t done for over a century.

They weren’t arguing—they were talking with one another.

They were discussing what happened between Lucy and I like a soap opera. While I could only catch bits and pieces of their cryptic discussion, the vocalization was overwhelming. It would take a whole lot of willpower not to give in to their control.

“ She’s a firecracker !”

“ What a witch !”

“ She took those serpents like a pro !”

“Stop it,” I hissed .

“ We were only getting started ! Imagine what she might do when we release the anaconda !” one of them bellowed, his voice growling as it blew past me. My hair parted as my shadows began roaring with one another. “ Come on. We all know how much you wanted us to have a go at her .”

I grabbed one of the bands of silk before he escaped my grasp. “Apparently you’ve been keeping secrets from me. Lucy said you agreed to tell her how Melrose died. Well?”

“ We didn’t get our end of the bargain ,” he growled back at me.

My fingers disappeared into the ebony mass of my shadow. “I don’t care what you get. She’s mine, not yours.”

A greedy smile spread across his twisting, vaporous face. “ A witch’s word is a demon’s pleasure. It’s time you show her your true self, Hidden One .”

My shadow dispersed in a plume of black smoke, leaving me feeling hollow.

Shit.

My shadows had me cornered.

I gazed around my shop, Where was Dad, anyway? Krim was supposed to distract him when I took off to find Lucy.

Anger and Sadness had rummaged through my art supplies. What had they done with my mother’s medicine bundle?

One of the portraits morphed, darkening until the face became concealed beneath a cloak of darkness. Krim’s head manifested, his eyes glowing red behind the shadows draping over his face. His mouth snapped open as a snarl escaped his lips. “Dude. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Turn on your fucking phone. Get to my bar, now.”

“Where is Dad?” I snapped at him.

His eyes flashed, redness burning in them. “No idea. But I think Lucy’s little bookworm might have left something we can work with.”

My stomach twisted.

Grubs.

I thought he was gone.

What had that bastard little bookworm done?

Moments later, I manifested inside of Shadow Daddy's. The air was thicker here than it was in my tattoo parlor. It was noon, and Krim had taken time off from his teaching duties at the university. Not a good sign. Even though it was the middle of the day, all of the shades were drawn.

Krim wasn’t behind the bar where he usually worked out some horribly-gone-wrong baking experiment. Other figures lurked in the room, coalescing near the pool table. Their auras were concealed, preventing me from making a reading on them. The energy was so thickly negative, one could cut it with a knife, sending vortexes and ley lines haywire .

Krim’s shadow was there among the others, but he was smaller than he usually appeared. He wasn’t tucked behind the bar, but was out in the open like me.

I approached the bar, stopping by my younger brother. “What’s up with all of the shady vibes in here?” I asked, knowing Shadow Daddy’s had always done well to attract restless spirits. I sucked in a breath, choking. The nasty humid air thickened by the second.

Krim folded his arms across his chest, keeping his reaper hood drawn over his face. His gaze found me. Something I couldn’t quite read flickered in his bloodshot irises. “The spirits are trying to figure out what to do with the bookworm.”

The mass of shadows morphed as my youngest brother stepped out of the darkness. The silver spikes of Zed’s leather jacket oozed with something damp. A burlap sack hung from his fist, the bottom bulging as it swung in front of him.

Zed separated himself from the shadows, standing in front of Krim and I. “That little bastard bookworm has gone and ate something that killed him all right.” He folded the sack open and poured the contents out, filling the space with the musky scent of earth.

A shriveled body of what had been Lucy’s familiar fell onto the pile of dirt. It rolled until it stopped at my foot, where I finally got a good look at him. His body resembled an elongated raisin.

Part of me was happy the little dick was gone. Another part of me knew that somehow, this was a really bad sign.

“Is he dead?” Krim asked, squinting so hard at the dirt that his hood fell into his face.

“Familiars don’t die,” I corrected. “Their magic is all about recycling, isn’t it? Don’t their spirits resurrect themselves shortly after. . . this ?”

“ No. They like to burrow into your skin first .”

I slapped my wrist, hoping to muffle my shadows before they latched onto the negative energy spewing out of the shadow vortex growing before us.

“Who said that?” Krim asked.

“Me,” I said, which was partially correct. My shadows might have voices of their own, but I could easily disguise them if necessary.

I could feel their arms and fingers waiting to branch out of me. They were flirting with the ball of black energy that had started to spin.

“Well, this one apparently did die,” Zed grumbled, wiping a bead of sweat trickling down his face. “When he did, he opened some kind of shadow portal to the Summoning, hence all of this spirit business.”

I glanced at the dirt, watching as the shadows seemed to devour what spilled on the floor. Like sand pouring through an hourglass, the pile began to disappear, until only the shriveled body of Lucy's familiar remained.

“Whatever he munched on, that was it. That little grubby thing went and feasted on his last treat.”

The three of us brothers turned to face the female figure forming in the corner of the bar. The scent of roses filled the room, masking the aroma of damp earth as she closed in on us .

“Melrose, what are you doing here?” I asked, taking a stance in front of my brothers.

Her green eyes settled onto me, a dangerous flicker in them. She tossed something forward, where it landed with a dusty thud on the ground. “Don’t you want to see what was making the Bone Threader sick to his stomach?”

It took me a moment to figure out what was now fuming on the ground. The grimoire smoked and hissed, tendrils of green vapor escaping from its soggy pages.

“He couldn’t devour it?” I asked.

“No,” Melrose said. “Apparently, some other familiar took a bite out of it first.”

We all stared at the shriveled raisin on the ground. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually grateful for Lucy’s grouchy bookworm. He just might have saved my family's archives by preventing the Bone Threader from devouring my parents’ grimoire.

The ground trembled, quaking as a plume of dirt and smoke manifested. The boy I’d met at Greasy’s Dinner emerged, flexing his fingers as his eyes fell to me. His fingers gripped the side of his face as he peeled the identity of the boy away.

The wendigo’s true form emerged—a spirit made of soil, bone, and decay. “Today is the day I devour every last one of you and turn you into binding paste,” The Bone Threader barked. His bony fingers morphed into claws.

I ducked as he swung his arm and knocked Krim’s alcohol selection to the ground, shattering the liquor bottles. I hit the ground as his claws sliced their way over my arms, gouging through me. One-by-one, each of my shadows was ripped out of my skin, leaving behind nothing but my hollow body.