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

39. Lucy

39

Lucy

The following days became weeks as what should be normalcy fell upon town. Despite Grace blaming me for summoning a giant spirit tree that destroyed her greenhouse, I was getting by. The good news was that my library reopened.

With the sinkholes gone, I threw myself into work, finding my rhythm with my shelving routine. Grubs, on the other hand, was still missing. He might not be perched atop the bookshelf inspecting my every move, but I could still ask him questions. “ Where is Amon ?”

Nothing but silence, along with some muffled munching, followed. I usually embraced the quiet of the winter months as they approached, when Grubs had gone into chrysalis, preparing to emerge sometime in spring. But this year, the silence was too much. My mind was full of magical symbols and shadows that danced in a breeze full of raven feathers.

I should have known Amon would disappear as soon as Melrose and her brother departed. Having him around was too good to be true. His shadows were bound to a world of spirits, while I was tethered to a world of books .

After work, I found myself over at Mom’s place. I’d spent many an evening over here, as Alba left for the Caribbean for the holidays. She wanted to see bronze men wearing banana hammocks in real life, not just behind the television.

Mom glanced up from her baking experiment, a smudge of white flour on her crimson cheeks. “Lucy, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mom wasn't lying. Since I met Amon, all I wanted to read were books about the paranormal. I didn’t have the grimoire any longer, or Amon to harass me. But the symbols inside had burned so deeply into my memory, I didn’t think they were something I could ever forget.

Not in the way I had read them on him. Amon had forever changed the way I looked at my magic.

A bamboo spoon scraped across her porcelain bowl as Mom mixed another batch of her famous muffins. All three of us sisters were planning to get together with her for Thanksgiving. “Maybe your demon friends have all fled back to their demon council. Any word on Amon?”

“No, and Grubs refuses to tell me anything about what happened to him.”

Mom’s mouth twisted as she formed a reply. “Don’t worry. He’ll show up. A demon is bound to lose one of his shadows eventually, especially a creative one like Amon.”

That afternoon, I tugged on my winter coat complete with a scarf and made my way down the sidewalk, taking in the usual sights and smells of the neighborhood. The crisp autumn air burned my lungs, followed by the white puffs of my breath. Sinkholes were repaired, new asphalt and concrete applied. Some areas had been left barren to Grace’s liking, which she has volunteered through the City Council to start up a branch of community gardens.

All of the exposed earth left me feeling vulnerable. Ever since the tree of shadows bloomed out of the greenhouse, my magic refused to return into dormancy. While this new energy caused dandelion stems to curl as I walked by, all of the Ravenbloods disappeared from my life.

I found myself walking past Shadow Daddy’s bar. Another bartender took over, one who was far less attractive than Amon’s demon brother. My next stop was Amon’s tattoo parlor. I stopped outside the window, blowing across the glass until a patch of condensation emerged. The blinds were drawn over the grimy windows. I couldn’t see if the demon portraits were still inside. The shop had been closed for weeks. Staying the night in his flat again seemed like a fantasy now.

I traced my finger over the condensation patch, drawing a raven feather with a heart around it before I continued walking down the street. Returning to Victoria’s, I found the gardens were well on their way in their winter transition. Frost lined the pathway, layering icy crystals upon the withered stems of the lilac bushes.

I followed the path, finding a pile of rocks that were disturbed. The hedgehogs were busy messing with the foliage, prepping their dens for winter. They did this in both Mom and Victoria’s gardens, and I’d become quite accustomed to tripping over the rocks they displaced every year.

One of the stones wasn’t like the others. A smoky chunk of quartz sat on the path, a dazzling sample of crystal. The ebony imperfections inside reminded me of Amon’s feathers, each and every one of them perfectly sculpted. All I could see were the symbols on his beautiful naked body.

Those times were long gone. He came as quickly as the wendigo did, disappearing back into the shadows.