The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher

13

“What the fuck?” Elon growls from behind me, and the entire atmosphere changes in a breath.

Tension skates across my skin as Rogan’s consternation and distress bloom in my chest. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can feel my panic. Every single one of us calls on our magic, and I can instantly feel the protections on this demon are strong as fuck.

“I see you’ve had some recent dealings with my kind,” the demon says indifferently, not at all bothered by the fact that each of us is intent on destroying him. “I suppose I should say half of my kind since I’m not a pure blood demon. Wouldn’t want the higher-ups to hear word that I was claiming to be on their level.”

Uneasy mumbles sound off behind me, and I can feel alarm skittering through the atmosphere like roaches trying to escape light. The demon rolls his silver eyes at the shocked reaction, but the gesture looks odd as his entire eye is silver. There’s no distinguishable pupil, nothing that separates an iris from the cornea. Nope, there’s only silver, which is framed by long black lashes, coppery brown skin, straight black hair that’s longer than mine, luscious lips, and a voice that I’m certain melts the underwear off both women and men in equal measure.

He leans against the frame of the door, his silk robe-slash-smoking-jacket top draping open to show his muscular chest and washboard abs. A delicious V of muscle dips down into a pair of ripped up skinny jeans. He stands there staring at me, bare foot tapping impatiently.

“What?” I ask confused, thrown off by the blasé attitude and the fact that this demon isn’t trying to kill us.

“Just the looks then, huh?” he counters, his face radiating faux pity. “I was hoping there was a brain accompanying that gorgeous hair and that sinful face. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

“Did you just call me stupid?” I demand, taken aback.

What the hell is going on right now?

Rogan growls, like he’s ready to intervene with his fists, but the demon ignores him.

“Doll, you’re going to have to catch up quicker than that, or this is going to be a long ass evening. I have a waxing appointment at nine p.m. sharp that I will be attending with or without you here. So, let’s get it together, mmmkay?”

He turns to walk back into his flat, and I stare after him, dumbfounded.

Beast is a fucking prick.

I turn back to the group, not sure what to do. “A little warning would have been nice, Prek,” I lob, irritated with the jumpstart my heart just got when a demon—correction, half demon—opened the door.

“I didn’t know,” Prek defends, and I narrow my gaze at him.

“He has silver eyes,” Elon counters, like that alone should have given the pompous ass away.

“What? No. He has brown eyes, looks Italian or Spanish, definitely not demonic at all,” Prek argues.

Elon and I look at each other, baffled.

“They can’t see through my glamour, doll. If the laws are being abided, then you two shouldn’t be able to either...interesting,” he purrs, his eyes flitting from me to Elon, a hint of curiosity in his quirked brow. “Are you coming in or not, I have better things to do than stand here all day,” the demon calls out through his still open door, and I huff out a sigh.

He’s an arrogant shit, but he is our only lead.

I move to step into the apartment, but Rogan stops me and instead takes point, striding in first. The rest of us follow in after him, and the door shuts of its own volition behind us, making me jump. The room is a hybrid between a lounge and a library. Walls of books on built-in, dark wood bookcases line the room. The floor is the same rich dark color, and so is the ceiling. Color is sprinkled about the space through the spines of different books and glass antique lamps. Four dark green velvet couches are arranged in a square in the middle of the room, with a large coffee table at the center that’s covered in ledgers, chronicles, and volumes of all sorts.

The demon carefully pours water into a tea cup from a tray at his side. After dropping a cube of sugar into the same cup, he starts stirring it, settling in at the corner of one of the couches, not bothering to offer the rest of us anything.

“My name is Muda, as I’m sure your associate has informed you,” he announces, jutting his chin in Prek’s direction. “Now, how can I be of service?” he continues, his tone making it clear that he’d rather not be of service at all.

“We’ve had an encounter with a demon—” Rogan states, angling his body so that I’m hidden behind him.

“Yeesss, I gathered that much,” Muda croons bitchily, cutting Rogan off.

My temper flares, and I step to the side so that Rogan isn’t blocking me anymore. “Moopa, is it?” I purr, purposely getting his name wrong.

I scrunch my nose at him like I think he’s just too adorable for words, as I casually run my finger over a side table. I let disgust flash in my eyes, and then I look down at my hand and pretend to discreetly wipe something off of my finger. There isn’t a speck of dust on the table. The whole room is immaculate, but I see Muda’s eyes tighten infinitesimally, and I know I’ve scored one for team Just the Looks Then.

“I’m sure a sophisticated half demon like yourself is used to dealing with all types, so I want to cut to the chase and save us the opportunity of watching you get your balls waxed later. Nine p.m. sharp, right?” I confirm on a squealy laugh, like I’m nothing more than a vapid troll who speaks the same level of nasty cunt this fucker does. Prek shoots me a concerned look, but I ignore him. Clearly, these guys don’t speak fluent bitch.

Muda raises an eyebrow in a clear invitation to go on, so I stride through the copse of male mancers still standing in the entryway and make myself comfortable on the tufted green velvet sofa across from him.

“Now that we’ve all had a chance to size each other up and find each other desperately wanting,” I begin again, eyeing the half demon up and then down before dismissing him entirely and focusing on his home. I catch Rogan doing an excellent job of hiding the amusement I feel through our tether. Marx shoots me a lightning fast wink before I turn away and offer Muda a pitying look that’s filled with scathing judgment of his living conditions, as though he’s living in a hovel instead of this stunning space that could easily be featured in a magazine. His hand tightens on the spoon he’s stirring his tea with.

“I think it’s important for you to know that you’re staring at five people who have absolutely nothing to lose. Nothing,” I repeat sweetly, and Muda moves to set his tea cup down, like this conversation now has his full attention. “There’s no doubt that your protections and defenses are strong, and I’m sure from the feel you copped when you first opened the door, that you know what you’re up against with us. It would be a good fight, I’m not afraid to say it. You might even win...or, who knows, you might not. We are prepared to find out. I’m not so sure that you are though,” I tell him calmly, happy to point out these facts. “So, if you’re happy to stop fucking around, we can ask some questions, you can provide the answers, and then we’ll happily hop on our brooms and fly away. You can even keep the mean girl shit up—if the worst thing that happens to me today is you calling me stupid, then it’s been a good day. Mmmmkay?”

Muda stares at me for a beat, sizing me up as though he didn’t see me properly the first time. He sits back and crosses his legs, and that’s all the invitation I need.

“If you would be so kind, would you start by please explaining to us why Elon and I can see past your glamour, but the others can’t?” I ask, mirroring his position on the couch.

“It was a failsafe woven into the magic of the first Demon and Mancer Accords. If a demon violates said Accords and it negatively impacts a mancer or puts them at risk, they gain the ability to see through glamour and sense when a demonic threat is near. It’s a protective measure.”

I look to Elon, thinking of earlier when we both just happened to wake up and had the urge to sit outside. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, and I file it away to discuss later.

“Is it safe to say that if we are now seeing through glamour and sensing demonic threats, then the demon that’s hunting us isn’t supposed to be?”

Muda stills slightly, and if I wasn’t so homed in on his body language because I suspected it would tell me more than his snotty mouth, I probably would have missed it.

“Demons and mancers have strict laws that govern our interactions. Hunting is only permissible if you were part of a contract or sold as part of a contract,” he declares tightly, and I get the impression that he’s choosing his words very wisely.

“And if I was neither of those things, then this demon would be in violation of the Accords, correct?” I press, trying not to get ahead of myself or feel any kind of hope just yet.

“Correct,” Muda confirms stiffly.

“What happens exactly if the agreements between the two species are disobeyed?” Elon asks, his tone casual, but the gleam in his eyes is ripe with challenge.

Muda clears his throat and smooths his pants in thought for a beat. “If the Accords were breached, then the offending side has a set amount of time to correct the infraction. If they are unable to set things right in the allotted time, concessions are made, concessions that will be felt deeply by the offending party.”

“And how can we prove that an offence against the Accords has taken place?” Prek questions, moving to sit next to me on the couch.

Rogan releases an annoyed grunt, and I shoot him a look that says if you snooze, you lose.

“You file a complaint, and it gets investigated,” Muda tells him simply.

I snort out an incredulous laugh, unable to stop myself. If I didn’t think this smooth-talking half demon was such a douche, I’d offer him a good one with that joke. Muda looks over at me, his eyebrow twitching up in a way that tells me he’s back to being unimpressed.

“Wait. Really? That’s not your idea of a joke?” I question, now confused and unsure.

“Do I look like the type to jest?” he asks haughtily, and I shoot him a look that says well, I think you’re a joke, does that count? “There are protocols in place, and technology speeds up the process. My job as Linker is to facilitate a satisfactory outcome for all sides,” he declares, as though he’s reading lines for a badly written and over-acted play.

I look at Rogan like this dude can’t be serious, right? I was fully expecting to leave here with vague instructions on how to summon Jamie’s demon so that we could try to kill it. I didn’t even think we’d get a solid lead on how to kill the fucker, but that didn’t mean we weren’t going to give it our best shot. Now this uppity bunghole is sitting here telling us, if we file a complaint, the demon police will take care of the problem?

This all feels way too easy, which makes me wonder if this is all some kind of trap. Subtly I start looking around for some sign that a full-blooded demon is lurking in the back room or behind some secret door that leads to a lair below us or something. All I see is books and antiques though.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” I declare, deciding if this is a trap, it’s better to spring it now. I wasn’t kidding when I told Muda that we have nothing to lose by going head-to-head with him. “I would like to file a formal complaint,” I state firmly, and then suddenly there’s a sickening familiar feeling in my gut, and I can feel that I’m being yanked somewhere else.

Son of a bitch.

My panicked eyes meet Rogan’s for all of a split second before I’m torn away. Desolation rips through me from the tether, and I can hear Rogan’s shouted, “Nooo!” like an echo in my mind as everything around me tilts and blurs.

The sensation of falling overwhelms my senses, and then all at once it stops. Terror crawls up my throat, burning as it rises and robbing me of air. A feral scream sounds off all around me, and it takes me a second to realize it’s coming from me. My feet hit solid ground again, but my surroundings are fuzzy, and I scramble back, scared to death that at any moment, I’m going to slam up against a cold stone wall, and then I’ll blink and be back inside that horrific church again.

“No, not again. Please, not again,” I whimper.

My heart races so fast it feels like it’s going to explode, and my body shakes from the overload of adrenaline and dread.

Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid! How is this happening to me again?

I try to tamp down on the self-recrimination so I can focus on wherever this asshole has taken me. I ignore the helplessness I feel, knowing my body will survive another death—Elon is proof of that. I just wish I knew that my mind could withstand another torturous round with the demon and whoever it’s possessing. I clamp my mouth closed, and the fearful keening stops. I can break out of this cage, I know I can, I just need to find something to cut my hand open with. I need to bleed.

Why the hell did I trust a demon? I walked right into his home, knowing what he was, and now I’m going to pay the price for that stupidity.

My eyes dart frantically around at my feet, searching when a firm hand grips my elbow. Panicked, I shove every ounce of magic I can at whoever it is. The power slams up against a strong barrier, but I’m too scared and desperate to be deterred, so instead of trying to crash through the barriers, I wrap my will around the protective shell entirely and then shove it and the person inside of it away. I look over in time to see Muda go flying across what now looks like a lobby, and slam hard into a secretary’s desk. The female sitting at the sleek setup screams in shock before Muda’s body hits her and they both go crashing to the ground.

I stare confused, panting through my panic as a room starts to take shape all around me. Sunlight streams through the walls of windows surrounding me, and I get the distinct impression I’m in a high-rise building. Large, framed artwork decorates the walls, but the images are demonic and gory. Large potted plants take up the corners, and I swear one of them looks like it’s eating a bird. A massive dark blue couch sits in what looks like a waiting area, the color of the sofa so rich that I feel like I’m staring into the depths of space directly. The room is frigid, luxuriously decorated, and definitely not the church that haunts me more than I wish it did.

Oh god, please don’t let this place be worse.

Muda’s mussed up black hair pops up on the other side of the secretary’s desk first. He shoots me a scathing look as he scrambles to his feet, and a sheepish realization laps at me. Out of nowhere, a large boom tears through the room, and just when I think I have a grip on my fright, a pair of arched bone-white doors are thrown open and a massive demon stomps out of them.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” it snarls, leveling the entire room with a black glare that makes my blood run cold and my skin prickle with the need to get the hell out of here. “Visha, you know I like to rest my eyes for at least twenty minutes after the masseuse has left. Are you trying to get gutted?” the demon roars, and I flinch from the overwhelming sound of it.

The demon’s eyes snap from where Muda and the secretary are scrambling to get back on their feet to me. I stare into enraged black eyes set in a blood red face. The shape of its nose and mouth are eerily animalistic, like it’s a lycan whose face is trapped mid-shift. A black crown sits on the demon’s head, but as I look at it, I realize they’re actually horns that form the shape of a crown. Shoulder-length wavy black hair touches the fabric of an ornate and over-the-top looking suit. I can’t tell if that’s a uniform of some sort or if it hired Michael Jackson’s stylist after the singer died. Four arms, each bent at the elbow, rest on its waist, the posture clearly communicating annoyance, and I try not to stare at them. I’m tempted to think of the demon as a he, but there’s an androgyny about the being, that makes me unsure either way.

Black eyes take me in with the same level of scrutiny that I was just using, and I feel my magic rise in response.

“Mmmm, as tempting as that show of power is, put your magic away, butterfly. You don’t see me walking into your place of business and whipping my dicks out for all to see,” the demon commands, its tone even and all at once unbothered.

Dicks?

I’m not at all sure how those things are the same, but I pull back on my magic anyway, surprisingly no longer feeling threatened or under attack.

“My apologies, Sire. I’ve brought Osteomancer Osseous here to lodge a formal complaint. She caught me by surprise; it won’t happen again,” Muda rushes to explain, a simpering smile on his face, while he throws me a glare that says this better not happen again.

“It sure as hell will if you think you can just yank me around without so much as a heads-up. Priggish demon or not, ask politely next time and maybe you won’t get your ass tossed across the room,” I snap at the Linker, who simply rolls his eyes like my feelings on the matter are nothing more than an inconvenience to him.

I wonder if his boss would let me get away with tossing him around just one more time.

I eye the other demon speculatively and decide against it. It’s very tempting though, but I need to ignore the two demons for a moment, now that the immediate danger has passed, and focus on my connection with Rogan and the bombardment of panic, fear, and rage flowing from him to me. I send a wave of calm, comfort, and safety, and am immediately hit with a ripple of relief and promised retribution.

Muda and the other demon are talking, and I focus on what’s being said. I catch the tail end of Muda recapping the conversation that occurred between us in his flat in Glasgow, and the other demon is watching me calculatingly. A long black tongue snakes out of his mouth and flicks in my direction, like he’s a snake that’s scenting me, either that or he’s propositioning me for other things. Either way, I fidget uncomfortably, unable to help it.

“Breaking the Accords is a very serious accusation,” the other demon points out, rolling its freakishly long tongue back into its mouth. “If you’re making a false report, there are consequences, you know.”

I look at Muda, suddenly worried that he left that part out, but I quickly shove the apprehension I feel aside. A demon did attack me, threaten me, and then try to come after me again, which according to Muda is against the laws. I square my shoulders and nod my head.

Black eyes drink me in for a beat, and I can feel the demon trying to determine something, but I have no idea what. “Follow me then. I’ll take down your statement and have the proper channels look into it.”

I’m ushered into a massive office and sat on the other side of an ornate hemlock wood desk. I feel like I’m meeting with the CEO of some massive company instead of meeting with a demon to complain about getting picked on by another demon. The whole exchange is weird, but I suppose bureaucracy prevails in every species.

I shake my head as I look around. “Here I was thinking it was weird when I learned that the High Council had their own offices and penthouses,” I mumble as I survey the trinkets displayed on a set of glass shelves. I’m too far away to tell what anything is, but it’s not family photos or diplomas at least.

“Guess it only makes sense for demons to have advanced beyond the archaic days of our ancestors’ cabins and huts,” I go on, returning my attention back to the red demon, who’s watching me intently from his leather high-backed chair.

“Not that I know much about demons, really,” I hurry to add, realizing that what I just said might’ve been offensive. “I know that you live in another realm and apparently messing with ours is frowned upon, unless in specific cases and under a clear set of guidelines. Although I just learned that last part today,” I announce, like it should be important to the demon staring at me like I’m a fly that just landed on his food. “I have to admit though, so far I find the relationship between demons and witches all a bit confusing and way more structured than I thought it would be. As anticlimactic as this whole office experience feels, real talk, I could use a bit more of that in my life, given all the crazy ass shit I’ve been dealing with lately,” I declare as an exhausted chuckle escapes before I shut my ridiculous rambling down.

Really, brain? We just real talked a four-armed demon?

Internally, I facepalm and try not to cringe at the word vomit I spewed all over. Nope, I will not let them see me sweat.

“I must say, mancer, the reek of power on you is truly tantalizing,” the red demon declares out of nowhere.

“She has a mouth on her too that I suspect you’d find amusing,” Muda states evenly, his back to us as he stands off to the side, staring out at the city skyline, like he’s already bored with whatever is about to happen even though we haven’t even begun.

Black eyes twinkle at me, and I fight the urge to panic or try to run screaming from this office and this demon. “I don’t get over to your side of things very often anymore, but if the witches are smelling like you these days, then I will endeavor to make more of an effort.”

“They don’t,” Muda monotones, and I shoot a glare at his back.

“How much for you?” the red demon asks, his face a terrifying wall of seriousness.

I choke on air, not sure what the hell to say to that. “I...um…well...”

“Call me Dyad,” the red demon offers, as though my hesitant answer is a result of not knowing his name instead of not knowing what the fuck to say to that inappropriate question.

What in the Crone is going on here?

“Uhh...okay…right…uhhhh...Dyad...” I stammer, scrambling for a way to shut whatever is happening down without creating more problems for myself with any more demons.

I have no idea how we took this turn to I think not-ville, but I need to turn this shit around fast. I need the demon I’m already dealing with gone, not a two-for-one deal on trouble.

No. Just...so many nos.

Dyad snaps at Muda, like a douchebag in a restaurant snaps at the server. I cringe at the lack of manners. Muda turns to me, his surly silver eyes gleaming as he huffs out a resigned sigh.

“You should consider this offer carefully, as there is no guarantee that one will be made again,” Muda tells me, his tone practiced and bored. “To be in the service of a High Demon is the highest of accomplishments. You will be offered protection and power, the likes of which you’ve never even dreamed about. The contract could be platonic. Your services could be rewarded in whatever monetary ways you see fit. Or, if you prefer, your contract could encompass all of the supreme pleasures and delights that a High Demon is capable of offering. You would have a life beyond your wildest dreams.”

Muda’s eyes are flat as he does his worst to sell me on my options, but Dyad doesn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of enthusiasm in the slightest.

“Dyad is a very virile demon possessing both male and female anatomy—some in duplicate. You are guaranteed to have everything you need at your disposal to achieve the highest tier of pleasure any being is capable of reaching.”

My eyes widen at this declaration, and I suddenly don’t know where to look.

This demon is seriously packing two dicks and a vagina in those pants? Do not look, Lennox. Curiosity killed the cat, and it sure as hell might come for an Osteomancer too.

I clear my throat, waiting to see if Muda has anything else he’d like to tell me about the High Demon Dyad, or maybe an escape plan he wants to throw my way, but he stays quiet on both fronts.

Sweat breaks out on my brow as my flighty eyes finally connect with Dyad’s black gaze.

Do not gulp, Lennox. There will be no audible gulping to the offer of two dicks, a vagina, four hands, and a whole lotta enslavement.

“Riiightttt,” I start, reeling and still trying to figure out how to navigate this insanity. “See what happened was… No...I mean, the thing is...that I am spoken for and not at all for sale,” I finally manage to get out, sounding surprisingly and impressively firmly.

Maybe too firm, I suddenly worry. Perhaps it would have been better to have gone with flattered but not in a position to accept? But it’s not like this is some rando hitting on me in the grocery store or at a darkened bar somewhere. No, firm is definitely the way to go. This is a demon trying to buy me for who knows what purposes, and I should be as clear as possible that it’s not happening. You know, while trying not to get myself killed.

Fucking hell, I am soooo out of my element right now.

I hold my breath, waiting to see if my refusal is going to have repercussions, but nothing happens. Dyad nods once, shoots Muda a look that makes me think this offer might be revisited at some point in the future, and then the High Demon clicks on a wireless mouse a couple times before returning a professional gaze back to me.

“Shame,” he tells me, disappointed.

I swallow down the you’ll get over it that tries to crawl off my tongue, and stare at him, refusing to drop my gaze and leave any doubt about where I stand on being purchased.

His black eyes deepen, but I can’t decipher what that means. “In that case then, why don’t you start from the beginning of your encounter with a demon, and we’ll see if your complaint has any merit,” Dyad croons at me, but I don’t miss the hint of a threat in those instructions. “Oh and do tell us everything. We’ll discover it all when we investigate, so save yourself any trouble, butterfly, and be forthright from the beginning.”

Yep, High Demons clearly aren’t a fan of rejection, and judging by the look on this one’s face, I might have just made another enemy.

Perfect, just freakin’ perfect.