Page 8 of A Study of Blood and Ichor

I stomped across the room and ripped the gold barrette and pin out of my hair before slamming them down onto my dresser. My hands curled into fists repeatedly until I saw the unopened envelope peeking out beneath a pile of books. I’d hidden it there for nearly a week and still hadn’t mustered the courage to open it.

Apparently, all it took was a little anger to tip me over the edge. I tore through the light-brown paper and the red wax seal of my family’s crest. Gingerly unfolding the letter in my shaking hands, I hadn’t expected the paper inside to smell so strongly like home, rose from my mother’s perfume and the bitter tobacco that my father occasionally smoked.

The ink was scratched angrily across the paper in my father’s handwriting. I recognized it immediately as his, but also hadn’t expected my mother to be the one to respond to my letter anyways. Not because she was too busy. She just couldn’t be bothered to care. Not since the accident—since Sascha. I had accepted it a long time ago, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Ava,

Lena has continued to keep us updated on your progress at Moreau. From what she tells us, you’ve taken on the workload well, and she is confident that you are progressing at the rate we had hoped.

Your mother and I have discussed at length the prospect of you returning home as you requested in your last letter. However, we have decided that it is best for you to remain at the Moreau Coven. We can discuss the possibility of your eventual return when we deem it necessary for you to begin your High Witch training…

I skimmed the last few paragraphs before my vision blurred. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and then crumpled the paper into a tight ball, chucking it across the room before I threw myself onto my bed and hugged my pillow tightly to my chest.

It had been a moment of weakness, a pathetic lapse in judgment to send them that letter. The first in years. The mere thought that I had felt the need to ask for permission to return home accompanied with the rejection that I was neither needed nor wanted left a hot seed of anger burning a pit in my stomach. I was worth nothing but my name when the time came for me to continue as my family’s legacy. I was nothing more than that. A vessel to carry on their line. And I wasn’t even able to do that.

There was no denying that I would always be a dark stain on the Helacourt name. Recklessly summoning a demon that possessed and killed your sister wasn’t exactly the kind of accident that could be forgiven.

I deserved nothing less than the bitter and angry makeshift excuse of a life I’d shaped around the shameful consequences that forever haunted me.

Maybe, I realized, it was pointless to try and escape them. Forgiveness wasn’t meant for people like me. To live in a constant state of drowning in the depths of my guilt that had made a permanent home in the hollow crevices of my soul felt like an apt enough punishment.

FOUR

Ava

Standing before the doors of the Hull and holding my breath, I rested my hands against the cool iron to ground myself.

I was still suffering from the aftereffects of Remi’s elixir I took last night. My limbs felt leaden, my brain foggy, and there was a lingering aftertaste of burnt willow bark that coated my tongue even hours after when I’d finished my morning classes.

I’d considered going to Lena’s study and confessing that I was not cut out for this task and that she should find someone else. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. She was the only witch in our coven who knew of my past, and she had still deemed me capable for this. And that was besides the fact that I was the only demonologist in the entire damn coven.

So why the hell was I nervous? I’d dealt with my fair share of all types of demons before. What made this one so different?

With a final inhale, I tucked away my doubts and threw up my mental shields. Rolling my shoulders back, I pushed open the heavy doors with as much of Lena’s confidence that I could imitate.

I looked straight ahead to the figure within the warded pentagram in the center of the room. The demon was in control. It tracked my movements with an unnatural predatory precision and an intensity that left my skin teeming with goosebumps. A sharp prickling sensation raced up my spine and I forced myself not to shiver.

As much as I had tried to compose myself beforehand, now that I stood in its presence, I knew maintaining my cool, unbothered demeanor would not be as easy as I’d tried to convince myself.

I stopped a few feet away from the edge of the wards as Lena had done yesterday. Planting my feet, I stared back at the black-eyed demon who held my gaze with primal hunger and, to my surprise, a hint of curiosity.

It was waiting for me to speak first. Interesting.

I kept my voice steady. “What is your name, demon?”

“I have many names,” it said. I had forgotten how unsettling the sound was when it spoke through Rory.

Great. Demons who favored cryptic words and played mind games were my least favorite.

“Then what do you call yourself?”

“Vain,” the demon said. Its voice rumbled so deep that I swore it rattled my very bones.

My attention flicked to the V tattoo on the man’s neck.

“And what do I have the pleasure of calling you, little witch?”

“You don’t have the pleasure of anything.” I attempted to keep my tone flat and even, rather than spitting out my words in disgust like I wanted. Lena’s cautious warning echoed in my mind, so I focused on hardening my gaze and triple checking the strength of my mental shields.

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