You Only Spell Twic

by Paige Howland

  Oh, broomsticks.

  I lunged forward to shoo the bird away, but it was too late. It flapped its tiny wings, snatched a beak full of twigs, and flew away, leaving a tiny gap in the circle.

  And just like that, the circle was broken.

  28

  I’d like to say that once the circle broke, I leapt into action. That I mended the circle with quick thinking and an impressive feat of witchery or maybe that I killed Balphagor with a deadly rune before he could kill me.

  But that’s not exactly what happened.

  Partly because once a circle was broken, no amount of magic or twig redistribution could repair it. And partly because I seriously doubted any of the tricks I’d learned from Aunt Belinda’s coven would stand up to a demon attack.

  So instead I just sort of stood there, frozen, unsure what to do, while Balphagor’s attention drifted to the crack in the circle.

  His lips thinned. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

  I’ll say, said the voice. Now I’ll have to find a new body to possess. And you’ve loosed a demon to wreak his evil havoc upon the earth. Well done.

  Yeah. I’d feel worse about that if the demon didn’t look just as upset about this turn of events as I was.

  “I don’t suppose you know how to fix that,” he said glumly.

  “Not exactly.”

  We considered the bare spot some more.

  “I’m not pressuring you or anything, but aren’t you supposed to try to kill me now?”

  “I would. It’s just, do you have any idea how much work is involved in a proper murder?” he whined.

  “Er, no.”

  “Well, the moment I step out of this circle, you will scream and probably run, and I’d have to chase you. I’d catch you, of course, but then you’d try to fight me while I bludgeoned you to death with my pinky toe or scooped out your eyeballs with my tongue.” He waved a hand. “I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”

  I blinked at him. “That’s so gross.”

  “Tell me about it. This would all be much easier if you’d just tell me what you want. If we can strike a deal, I will be on my way.”

  “And if we can’t?”

  “Then I will have to kill you.”

  “But you just said—”

  The demon waved a sluggish hand. “I know what I said. But now that the circle is broken, if we don’t strike a deal and I don’t kill you, the other demons will make my life difficult. Make no mistake, killing you is work, but it is less work than putting up with their incessant badgering. Plus I have my campaign to think about. What kind of Prince of Hell doesn’t strike a deal or murder his summoner when presented with the opportunity? That’s what my opponents will say, anyway. Politics, you know.”

  Right then. I took a deep breath. “I want you to find a friend of mine. Either take me to him, or let him know where I am. Can you do that?”

  “Of course. What will you give me for it?”

  “Not my soul.”

  It felt important to be clear about that.

  The demon looked scandalized. “Do you have any idea how much work goes into soul harvesting? What a ridiculous offering.”

  “I wasn’t offer … never mind. What do you want?”

  With a dramatic sigh, the demon flounced to the ground, legs crossed, bathrobe flaring out around his lanky frame like a tree skirt. As though he’d suddenly decided that standing was too much effort. “I could think of something suitable for a fair bargain, but that requires effort. Why don’t you just offer me something, and I’ll decide if I want it. Yes, that sounds like much less work.”

  So while the demon drew lazy circles in the dirt with one razor-sharp fingernail, I wracked my brain for something, anything, that I possessed and a sloth demon might want.

  “This knife?” I held it up.

  “Pass.”

  “Two tickets to Kelly Clarkson in concert?” They were lawn seats but no need to mention that.

  “Sounds loud.”

  The voice made a suggestion so ludicrous I couldn’t keep my response in my head.

  “I am not offering him my firstborn!” I hissed.

  The demon looked alarmed. “Do you have any idea how much work a baby is?”

  “No souls, no babies, no cookies,” I recapped while I wracked my brain for anything else I had that a demon might want. Probably not my vintage American Girl doll collection.

  The demon slouched lower and lower, until his head nearly touched his knees. “Would a pillow be too much to ask for?” he grumbled.

  Hmm.

  “You want to be a prince of hell, right?” I said slowly.

  “I suppose.”

  “And all evil princes need a throne, right?”

  The demon sighed noisily. “Of course, but thrones are just so uncomfortable.”

  “What if I told you I could give you the most comfortable throne you’ll ever find?”

  He glanced up from drawing … actually the dirt sketch was kind of pretty.

  “Are those ocean waves?”

  “Blood spatter patterns. You were saying something about my comfort?”

  I swallowed. Hard. “Right. Well, I have this chair. A recliner,” I amended quickly when his eyes started to glaze over, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Faux suede. None of that leather crap that’s too sweaty in the summer and too cold in the … well, I guess that’s not a problem in hell.”

  “La-Z-Boy Furniture Showroom?” the demon guessed.

  “Yard sale. It’s so ugly no one wants it, but it’s so comfortable no one can bear to

  throw it out. It’s covered in patches where the upholstery has worn through, which means it’s super broken in and mushy in all the right places. The seat is so sunken in that anyone over the age of forty has trouble getting out of it.”

  That sounds disgusting, the voice said, but Balphagor’s eyes lit up.

  I added the pièce de résistance. “The hand control on the reclining function is broken, so the chair flips all the way back. Like a bed.”

  “Well, Ainsley Winters, this throne sounds utterly delightful. Assuming it is everything you’ve promised, we have a deal.”

  I pretended I wasn’t totally creeped out that he knew my name even though I’d never given it and let out a long breath. “I promise you’ll never want to stand again.”

  The demon nodded. “Give me the name of this friend you seek, and I will retrieve him for you. I shall collect my payment later. Once I scrounge up a few imps to transport this throne for me, of course.”

  Supernatural moving men. Sure. I gave him Ryerson’s name and a brief description, and the demon disappeared in a cloud of hell smoke. It occurred to me that Balphagor only knew to find me at the rainy park, as opposed to, say, a warm, dry coffee shop. One with donuts.

  Sigh.

  How long do you think this will take? I asked the voice.

  Don’t ask me. I thought for sure that demon would be wearing your liver as a hat by now, so what do I know?

  Great.

  I snuffed out the fires and scattered the remnants of the summoning, packed up the knife and the book, and trudged out of the clearing. The wind whipped through the treetops, shaking the feathery leaves free of raindrops that showered down, soaking through my borrowed sweatpants and sticking my shirt to my skin. The grass squished under my feet as I left the protection of the trees and headed to the car. Fat raindrops pummeled the earth, and I ducked my head and shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my sweatshirt.

  At the car, I tucked the book safely away under the seat and then sat in the driver’s seat, watching the rain slap the windshield. Dahlia hadn’t called back, which meant she hadn’t found a safe house she was confident hadn’t been compromised. Not that it mattered. Until Balphagor returned, I wasn’t going anywhere, anyway.

  You know, you’re going through an awful lot of trouble to track down a guy who may not want to be found, the voice mused.
r />   I tried to ignore it. I really did.

  What the hex are you on about now?

  I’m just saying, he’s a super spy, right? Well, you went straight from Mauritania to the next closest safe house. Even if he didn’t know where that was, all he had to do was call the office and they’d tell him where you were, right?

  I scowled. If Ryerson was able to get to me, I mean to the book, he would have.

  All I’m saying is it’s been almost twenty-four hours. He could have at least called.

  Maybe he’s in trouble.

  The voice gave a mental shrug. Maybe.

  My lips pressed together, and I folded my arms over my chest. What did it know? If Ryerson was able to call, he would have.

  Wouldn’t he?

  The part of my brain that was clearly opposed to sleep had spent most of the train ride conjuring up all of the terrible things that could have happened to prevent him from finding me. I mean the book. Because the voice was right about one thing: if he was okay, he would have at least called the office, right? I mean, his mission was to recover the book, and Ryerson never let anything get in the way of completing his mission. Not if he could help it, anyway.

  I’d been so worried that he was in trouble—or worse—that I’d never even considered the alternative: that he simply hadn’t looked.

  If that were the case, maybe it meant his mission had changed. Maybe his new objective was to bring Alec in or to track down the guys who had ambushed us at Aduna’s house. Or Zoe’s team.

  The idea that Ryerson could be hunting Zoe at this very moment made me queasy, so I yanked my thoughts back to the point. That Ryerson might be smack-dab in the middle of a new mission, and I had just sent a demon after him.

  But wouldn’t Dahlia have mentioned if Ryerson’s mission had changed and I was on my own now? Maybe. But maybe not. After all, the last time we’d talked, we’d been a little preoccupied. And she had told me to lie low. What if that wasn’t just friendly advice, but my mission now? To lie low until she could get me a new passport to fly home. Alone. Simple enough, and instead of following orders I’d gone and jeopardized two missions and proven to everyone that I couldn’t handle the book on my own.

  I rubbed my temples, trying to massage away the headache that was forming there.

  If I was going to convince Director Abrams that I had what it took to be a spy, I needed to learn how to follow orders. I had the book. Once Dahlia secured a new passport, how hard would it be to get on a plane by myself and drive to CIA headquarters? Easy peasy, right?

  But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just leave the country, not until I knew Ryerson and Alec were okay. Not even if it meant Director Abrams wouldn’t make me a full-fledged spy. Maybe I’d interrupted Ryerson’s new mission and he’d be mad. Tough. He could get back to hunting terrorists or whatever it was he was doing just as soon as I knew he was okay.

  The car heater wasn’t doing much to dry my clothes, and I was feeling the teensiest bit sorry for myself, so I expended some magic on a warming rune. Since thoughts of Ryerson were making my head hurt, I let them drift to the other issue I’d been avoiding thinking about.

  Alec, that kiss, and what I would say to him when I saw him.

  And I had better think fast, because I’d left him with Ryerson, which meant he’d probably be here soon too. Just the memory of our kiss sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with the car heater or the rune I’d cast. It had been nearly a day, but I could still feel the imprint of his lips on my mine, a tingling sensation so vivid and real that I touched my lips just to reassure myself that no phantom lips hovered there, that it really was all just a memory.

  Now that I’d let myself go there, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. I’d waited my whole life to be kissed like that. To be kissed by him like that. And it had been worth every minute of the wait. It was everything I had ever imagined it to be—and I’d imagined it a lot—and more. But …

  But he’s not the broody one, the voice supplied helpfully.

  I scowled. Do you mind? These are personal thoughts.

  I’ll say. Most of your thoughts are not nearly this interesting, and I was growing quite bored.

  Feel free to go somewhere else.

  When things are just getting good? I don’t think so. Now, let’s analyze that kiss again.

  I grimaced. Pass.

  Why?

  Because I’m not having this conversation with you!

  The voice gave a mental shrug. Suit yourself. I’ll be here when you change your mind.

  Great.

  I refused to think about this anymore, at least while I had an audience. And in the end, I fell asleep. And dreamed about Alec. And Ryerson. The kiss.

  And what it would feel like to be kissed by Ryerson.

  The voice was happy. At least one of us was.

  29

  I’m not sure how long I slept, but when I finally woke up it was to someone gently shaking my shoulder.

  “Ainsley, wake up,” said a familiar voice.

  I blinked blearily into relieved blue eyes. Ryerson was crouched outside the car, which put us at eye level, for once. He gave me a crooked smile.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  It took a moment for the events of the last day to spiral through the fog of sleep, but when they did, I didn’t think, just peeled my cheek from the leather seat and threw my arms around his neck. Clearly unprepared for an attack by a sleep-crazed woman, he grunted and tried to correct for my weight, but it was too late. He landed on his back in the mud, my thighs on either side of his hips and my arms firmly around his neck.

  You are so awkward, the voice said in a tone that promised if she had a head, she’d be shaking it.

  Knees firmly squelched in muck, I pushed up until I was straddling his stomach, and Ryerson propped himself up on his elbows. All the worry and anxiety I’d felt over the last day crashed into me as I waited to see if he was upset. Upset that I’d left him. Upset that I’d sent a demon after him. Not that the latter would have stopped me, but still.

  He looked up at me … and grinned.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  The voice was right. I should have felt weird about tackling him, but the awkwardness, the anxiety, the worry, it all fled as my gaze dragged over him. The bits of him I could see, anyway.

  He was okay.

  A little banged up, but okay. Relief flooded through me.

  The path of Ryerson’s gaze mirrored my own, but his assessment paused above my eye, at some scrape I didn’t even remember getting. It was nothing compared to the deep bruise that painted the right side of his collarbone and disappeared under the collar of his dusty T-shirt, or whatever wound the strip of black cotton wrapped around his bicep was hiding, but he frowned and laid a hand against my cheek. The calloused pad of his thumb lightly skimmed the skin above the scrape, and I shivered.

  “What happened?” he said tightly, all traces of his smile gone.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the demon you sent after me?”

  “Not really.”

  He nodded but didn’t move his hand. “Whatever you’ve been through, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

  I blinked at him. “You’re sorry? I abandoned you in the middle of a firefight.”

  “As you should have.”

  My doubt must have shown on my face, because he went on.

  “Ainsley, your magic was depleted, and you don’t know how to use a gun. You were exhausted after that storm spell. When I walked out that door, you could barely stand. And despite all of that, you managed to stay on mission and keep the book safe. At least I assume …?”

  I nodded, and he let out a slow breath between desert-chapped lips.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  I expected him to immediately regret the words—after all, that was our M.O., one step forward, three giant leaps back—but he looked sincere, an
d warmth spread through me at the compliment. Some distant part of my brain knew I should get up. Put some distance between us before I did something impulsive that could scare him away for good, like lean down and wet those dry lips with my own. But the rough pad of his thumb stroked down my cheek, making it difficult to think. I swallowed hard and searched frantically for something to say, anything to fill the space between us before I filled it with something way more substantial than words.

  “Where’s Alec?”

  Note to future self: if it’s distance from Ryerson you want, that question is an excellent way to get it.

  His expression shut down, and his hand fell away. Whatever had been brewing between us a moment ago, it was gone now. I pushed to my feet, and Ryerson did the same, shoving a hand through his hair and showering grainy bits of sand over his shoulders.

  “Alec’s gone,” he said.

  Dread filled me. “Gone” could mean a lot of things. “Gone where?”

  “Who knows? He left during the fight. The book was gone, and I’m sure he saw it as a convenient time to make his escape, while I was preoccupied. Frankly, I thought he went after you.”

  I frowned. That didn’t sound like Alec. As much as Ryerson was unwilling to believe it, Alec cared about him. He’d proven that over and over again during the past few weeks. Leaving Ryerson to take on a whole contingent of bad guys alone just didn’t sound like something he’d do.

  I must have looked skeptical, because Ryerson added somewhat begrudgingly, “He stayed for most of the fight. Disappeared near the end, when there were just a few of them left. I had it under control, but I couldn’t fight them and keep an eye on Alec.”

  “Ah.”

  That sounded way more like him.

  I was half disappointed, half relieved we wouldn’t get to talk. Of course, Alec would come for the book. It was only a matter of time. That gave me some extra time to decide what I wanted to say to him, and besides, I doubted that Ryerson would let him steal the book out from under our noses a second time.