by Cece Rose
Screw that asshole. I’m done with his shit. I’m a witch, damn it, and I’ll be damned if I let a puny, annoying, creep of a human treat me this way. He won’t get away with this again. It’s every witch for herself now.
Two
Good Friends & Bad Advice
Trying to answer the phone while stirring both my pasta for dinner and a hair removal potion proves more difficult than anticipated. I drop the spoons onto the kitchen counter, giving up the balancing act, and hit the answer button.
“What’s up?” I ask, as I put the phone to my ear.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You left in such a rush, and you looked so upset,” Lizzy’s voice comes through the line, and I cringe.
“I’m sorry for storming off like that without an explanation. Jay is an asshole,” I reply, looking down and trying to remember which spoon went in which pot. I feel like avoiding this rookie mistake is something they’d teach you in How to Be a Witch 101: Don’t cook dinner while also cooking up revenge hair removal potions. I’m going to have to grab another spoon. I can’t risk all my hair falling out. It’s a bitch to make a potion that makes it grow back, but the remover potion is basic level stuff. Whoever came up with this crap had a wicked sense of humour.
“It’s fine, Kay. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright. What did he do?” she asks, probing for more information. I think about how to respond as I pull open my cutlery drawer in search of a replacement spoon for my pasta.
“It was a total repeat of the Christmas party,” I finally answer, grabbing a spoon and shoving it into the pasta pan before I can forget which spoon is which again. Which spoon is the witch spoon? I giggle at the thought.
“He didn’t really try it on again? Are you crying?” she asks, sounding concerned.
“No, laughing actually. I’m mixing up a nice hair removal potion. I’m gonna add it to the bastard’s coffee.” I take turns stirring the pasta and the potion, making sure to leave the spoons resting against their respective pan. No more rookie mistakes today.
“Hair loss? Do you really think that’s good enough? His hair line is already receding, you’d only be speeding up the process by a year or so,” Lizzy jokes, and I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s not like there’s anything else I can actually do. If I try and go above his head, it’s me who will get the sack, not him. They’ll find one reason or another to sack me before I can make any headway with a complaint. And I can’t use anything stronger than a hair loss potion or someone might report me for using magic carelessly in the presence of a human,” I mutter bitterly. Stupid laws. Stupid work. Stupid fucking pervert of a manager.
“Well, maybe you can’t do anything, but maybe your grandma can?” she suggests.
“My grandmother’s dead, she died a few months ago. You know that. You helped me move into her old house,” I say hesitantly, not knowing where she is going with this. Grandma’s house has been in the family for years. With housing prices being so insane in the area, no one would let this home leave the family. When she’d given it to me in her will, I’d moved straight out of my tiny apartment and into her old space. The extra room is welcome. Living in a cramped city is killer sometimes.
“I meant her grimoire,” she says in exasperation, like it should have been obvious, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Her grimoire?”
“Yeah, you did inherit the thing along with everything else, right?”
“I did, but my grandma was…” I trail off, biting my lip.
“Powerful? Eccentric? Surely a woman like that would have something worth using in that little black book of hers,” Lizzy continues for me.
“It’s brown.”
“Not the point and you know it, Kay.” I can hear her sigh. “You can’t let him get away with this. It’s an affront to women everywhere. Feminism has to start at home, Kayla. If he just keeps getting away with it, who knows how bad he could get? Really, this is the right thing to do. Not just for you and me, but for witches and wo—”
“Goddess, Lizzy, I get the freaking point. I’ll check the damn grimoire. I don’t know if I’ll find anything in there, though. I mean, whenever I’ve flicked through it, things seemed a little… err… on the dark side.” I bite my lip nervously, before quickly continuing in a rush. “Don’t get me wrong, my grandma wasn’t a black witch or anything, but she liked to study all kinds of magic, even those she wouldn’t practice.”
I glance down, and my eyes bulge wide as I notice the potion spilling over the edges of the pan, having turned into a sickly, dark-green bubbling mess while I was chatting. “Shit! I’ve got to go, Liz. I’ll update you tomorrow!” I shout, grabbing for a towel, or oven gloves, anything to try and stop this mess.
“Fine, but promise me this—do something. Don’t let yourself chicken out. Drink some vodka if that helps. Just freaking do something, girl. You can’t let yourself get walked all over by that asshole anymore,” Lizzy demands firmly.
“Fine!” I snap, finally finding a towel and quickly wrapping it over my free hand before grabbing the panhandle.
“Promise?” she prods.
“I promise,” I agree, hanging up the phone before anything else can go wrong. As if tempted by sod’s law, the fire alarm starts singing its anthem. Probably loud enough for the whole street to hear. Ughhhh.
I drop the pan with the potion into the sink, grabbing the salt I keep beside it and throwing the whole lot over the mixture. I turn around and see the smoke coming off my chicken pasta. My burning chicken pasta. I pull that off the hob too, throwing it into the damn sink as well. I use my magic to cut off the alarm, focusing all of my measly energy there to shut it up.
I eye the bottle of vodka in my kitchen cabinet longingly, the glass cabinet door giving me the tempting view. Lizzy, your wish is my command. I grab the vodka and a glass, and I head upstairs in search of my grandma’s grimoire.
No good story starts with pasta anyway.
Three
Don’t Dial Demons Drunk
Damn it. I knew this was a fucking terrible idea. The demon’s black, depthless eyes stare at me through the circle I’ve set. He stands in the exact centre of it, dressed in nothing but a snug pair of black trousers that ride dangerously low on his hips. Tattoos cover his entire body—what’s visible of it anyway—delicately inked symbols that I don’t recognise. We’re standing in my dining room, the table carelessly shoved to the side of the room to make space.
Who the hell summons a demon in their bloody dining room? Surely most people do it in their creepy cellars, or graveyards, or… well… something creepier than this anyway. The pink flowery wallpaper my grandma picked still covers the walls. I grimace as I look between the demon and the wallpaper, not sure which I’m more ashamed of.
I grab my glass and down some more of the vodka for courage, trying not to pull a face as I swallow the rest of the liquid that tastes a lot more like paint remover than a refreshing beverage. As I place the empty glass on the table, I eye the symbols I'd drawn within the circle, glad that my unartistic scribblings imitated well enough the examples I’d looked at. I’d finally found some use for Grandma’s dodgy grimoire after all the time it has been sitting on my shelf. These symbols were not the kind of things you’d find in your regular spell book, but Grandma was never a regular kind of witch. She’d loved to study all kinds of magic, not just the white magic she’d practiced.
A hastily scrawled note next to the ritual read For problems you can’t fix alone. I try not to let myself wonder what problems need to be fixed by a demon. I was aware you could make deals with demons, and that—so long as you didn’t use them to do anything illegal—the act of summoning them itself was perfectly fine. Although it wasn’t something anyone normally admitted to doing, I once read about a witch who swore they made their millions in stocks after taking a demon’s advice. The rate of murders committed by demons shot up in the years after that article was released. Too many rookie witches summ
oned demons they couldn’t contain, hoping to make millions. But I’d drawn my circle right, I could feel it holding up. I wasn’t looking to make millions, I just want someone fired. Surely that’s easier?
I chew my lip, and my fists clench and unclench nervously at my sides. Shit. I’m not a black witch, but fuck me sideways if this doesn’t look questionable. And, damn it, if they’re not going to play fair, then why the hell should I?
The demon smiles at me unnervingly, as if reading my mind. “What is it you desire, witch?”
Fuck. Am I really going to go through with this? “I need you to get rid of my boss,” I answer before I can think about it anymore and chicken out. Well, fuck, looks like I am. Too late to back out now, Kayla, the demon's already getting cosy in your freaking dining room.
“Do you want it to be slow and painful? Or do you just want it done?”
“Want what to be slow and… wait, no! I don’t want you to kill him, I just need him gone from the damn office. He’s an absolute jackass, but I’m not a murderer!” My eyes grow wide, and my heart pounds in my chest.
“Well, technically you wouldn’t be doing the murdering, now would you, little witch. So, slow and painful then?” he asks, almost sounding cheerful about the whole thing. Freaking demons.
“Nope! You won’t be murdering anyone either, at least not on my behalf, anyway.” I eye the demon nervously, more aware than ever that I am standing very close to a monster that wouldn’t think twice about killing me if he could. All that protects me is the circle I’ve drawn and sealed with my magic. Goddess, I hope it holds.
“Shame. It’s oh so much easier and ever so much more entertaining if I just off them. What did you have in mind, then?” he asks with a sigh, acting like I’ve taken all the fun out of life.
“Anything that gets him gone. The man is a sexist, perverted asshole.” I shudder just thinking about him. If I have to feel his eyes on my ass one more time, I’m going to snap. Being trapped in that damn noisy office with constantly broken air-conditioning was bad enough, but to be stuck in that hellhole with the biggest douche bag to ever grace humanity… it fucking sucks the life out of you faster than a starving succubus in a strip club.
“Sounds like my kind of man,” the demon jokes, smirking deviously before adding, “Anything?” in a questioning tone.
“Anything but killing him; don’t get smart on me,” I mutter darkly.
“And what are you willing to give in exchange for his removal?” he asks smoothly.
“Um…” I probably should have thought this through better. Of course I'd need to offer something in return. What do I have worth offering, and what would a demon even desire?
“I suppose your soul is out of the question?” he asks, drawing me from my internal, and very panicked, thoughts.
“No shit.” I roll my eyes before picking up Grandma's grimoire and flicking through, hoping something will jump out at me as a good offer. I need some inspiration here; there's got to be something.
“Well, what can you offer me, witch? If you have nothing to bargain with, I have other things I could be doing right now. People I could be doing, for that matter,” he drawls, but his eyes show his irritation. Is he really that annoyed to be here? I watch how he paces inside the circle, like an animal trapped in a tight cage. It hits me that he doesn't like being penned in.
“What do you want?” I ask him, throwing the grimoire down onto the side table. Useless damn book.
“Other than your soul?”
“Obviously,” I huff.
“A night free to wreak havoc?” he muses aloud, as he rolls back his shoulders. His muscles ripple beneath his heavily inked skin as he moves. I try not to stare, looking instead at the damned wallpaper I’m now determined to replace. Sorry, Grandma.
“Oh, hell no. Letting a demon loose is a high-level crime!” I finally snap, pulling myself back around to face him, wishing my glass wasn't empty. I'm suddenly feeling way too sober for this. I try to remember how many drinks I’ve had and fail. Maybe not too sober then.
“Only if you get caught, little witch. Live a little,” the demon replies, winking at me. A demon just winked at me. That definitely wasn't in any textbook or grimoire I've studied. I eye his muscles again. Neither was the fact that demons apparently liked to show up missing most of their clothing. Someone needs to write a better guide book on this whole demon summoning thing—Demon Summoning for Dummies. Not that anyone should be doing it. Especially not me, apparently.
“Not going to happen,” I say firmly, and he sighs dramatically. I watch his shoulders slump as he shifts his weight from side to side. His eyes then narrow on me for a second, and I notice him suddenly stand straighter, as if struck upright by some unseen force.
“What is your name, witch?” he demands.
“I know better than to tell you that,” I answer.
He smiles darkly. “You must be related to dear Gwen. You look very much like she once did.”
“You knew my grandma… she actually summoned you?” I choke out. I know she has the spells in her book, and I know she left a note saying for when there are problems you can’t fix… but I had thought she was more interested in the theory of it, not the practice. Grandma was always a little out there, but to actually summon a demon… I instantly see the hypocrisy in my own thoughts and try to brush it off. I don't have another choice, and it's not like I'm doing anything bad. I'm just getting a terrible boss fired. I'm doing the world a favour really. Well, the women in my workplace, at least.
“She did. Quite often, actually. In her youth she was such a charmer. In fact, I made that pretty necklace of yours for her,” he says, gesturing to it. My hand instantly goes to it, clutching it tightly. I've worn this necklace every day since I turned thirteen and got my full powers. Eleven years without taking it off, and now I find out it was made by a freaking demon. “I knew there was something familiar about this place. You could really use some refurbishment in here.”
“You made my necklace?” I ask incredulously, ignoring the snide comment about the house’s decor. I find it hard to believe my Grandma would give me something made by this monster. Anything made by a demon must surely be a dark object.
“Yes, I did, at her request,” he answers. “I’d like the necklace back. How does that sound?” he asks casually, but his black eyes watch me intently. I nervously twirl the pendant between my fingers. It’s not like I’d miss it anyway… I have so many things of my grandma’s; everything of hers, really. One necklace, and all my troubles would go away. Something about taking it off makes my stomach clench and my heart race, but I try to ignore the feeling. I needed Jay gone more than I need this necklace.
“Fine,” I answer, pulling the necklace off and throwing it into the circle. I concentrate my focus where it pushes through, allowing it to pass freely, but not opening it fully or for long enough that the demon could escape. He grins widely, as if it was his plan to strike this deal all along. Like he’d summoned me. I push the thought away; I need to stop reading into things.
“We have a deal, little witch. For this necklace, I will dispense of your troublesome boss… what is his name? I need to know who I am dispensing of.”
“Jay, well actually, his full name is James Elliot Cavanaugh. And dispense of him non-lethally!” I add, making sure it’s in our verbal terms. You can’t mess around with the terms and conditions when making deals with demons.
“Fine. For this necklace, I will dispense of James Elliot Cavanaugh, without killing him, although, I must say it would be much easier to just—”
“Seriously?” I cut him off harshly, glaring as he smiles at me like a damned mischievous child. Ironic, considering that this guy’s probably closer to a thousand than anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe older. I gulp.
“For this necklace, I will remove James Elliot Cavanaugh from your workplace permanently, without killing him. Happy now?” he asks with an exaggerated huff.
“Yes, fine. We have a deal,” I say quickl
y, just wanting this to be over and done with.
“Perfect.” He gives me a low, almost mocking, bow before standing up straight again and staring at me expectantly.
“Now get the hell out of my dining room,” I snap, realising what he is waiting for. “Precipio, relinquere cogunt vos me vade. Demon, I banish you,” I recite, stepping back as a puff of smoke suddenly fills the space where the demon was standing only seconds before. The smell of brimstone tickles my nose, and I glace at the black candle that sits at the northern edge of the room, waiting for the flame to extinguish before finally dropping my circle. I go to lean against the wall but somehow slip, crashing to the floor with a thud.
Maybe I really did have too much to drink after all, though I’ve never been exceptionally graceful. Graceful just isn’t a natural state for me, but clumsy I was not. I pull myself up, shaking off the pain spreading up my side as I head straight for the stairs so I can crawl into my bed. I’ll deal with the clean-up in the morning. The last thing I need to do is to drunkenly fall over, smudge one of the chalk-drawn symbols, and summon the God of Hell himself by accident.
I chuckle to myself at the demented thought. Dad always said I had a twisted sense of humour. My laugh turns into a sad smile as I think of him, as it always does. I try to be thankful for the time I did have with him, but it never feels like I had long enough. Grandma’s words swirl inside of my head, the ones she’d said to me whenever I complained how unfair it was for him to go so soon.
