Page 95 of Strike It Witch

I finished the spell with a final push of magic. “Perdido.Lost.”

It wasn’t a banishment spell. That would’ve taken far too much magic. Instead, I’d cast a lost and found spell. It would place what amounted to a beacon on the demon, signaling to Hades that one of its denizens had gotten away. Hell didn’t like to lose. Demons or penitents.

The demon was hauled toward the opening, his heels carving ravines in the dirt.

“This isn’t over. I’m coming back for you,” he said, voice buffeted by the waves of darkness dragging him through the opening between my world and his. “As I did your mother.” He made one last desperate grab for me.

Sexton popped up between us, Persephone’s Ear held out in front of him. The flame was lower than before. Sputtering. “Go home, Belial.”

Hell gave a mighty wrench, and with the sound of a balloon being rapidly deflated, Belial was sucked through the opening, which then sewed itself shut. All that was left of the demon was the fleshy shell of the human form he’d taken. It lay in a sopping pile, like a discarded wetsuit on a stormy beach.

"He killed my mom," I rasped.

"No, he did not." Sexton's voice was quiet and cold. "Your mother died performing a spell. Belial's words were meant to distract you. He is a liar, as are all demons."

"Even you?"

"Even me. Never trust one of us."

There was no time to think about it, because the second Belial was gone, another slit opened inside the circle. Smoke poured through, forming a sigil. Mictlantecuhtli.

I’d never been so happy to see the image of the Aztec god of the dead.

Sexton left the circles, once again coming to stand beside Ida, who didn’t look nearly as creeped out by him as I would’ve thought, given her feelings. The lamp’s flame sputtered out, and the artifact disintegrated into dust in Sexton’s hands.

“Thank you,” I mouthed, knowing he would hear it.

“You owe me a lamp,” he said, and walked out the way he’d come in, crossing the distance to the street in two blinks before disappearing into the night.

I crawled to the other side of the inner salt circle, taking care not to break it.

Gnath poured into existence in much the same way Belial had. He formed smoke into a dark, human-shaped figure and tried his damndest to look scary.

“Never mind the theatrics,” I said from below him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He peered down at me. “You look like hell, witch.”

“You don’t know the half of it, demon,” I muttered.

I sat up, waited a beat, then went to my knees and took a breather there. When I had managed to drag myself to my feet, I motioned the bookseller over. She exited the Lexus and came to stand two feet from the outer circle with theWeret-hekau Maleficiumclasped to her chest, her expression emotionless.

Thankfully, my legs decided to cooperate, and I crossed the outer salt line and took the book from her. Before anyone could stop me—and Ronan’s wolf looked very much like he might try—I stepped back into the circle and threw the book at Gnath.

He caught it and tossed the bookseller a gold coin, which hit the circle and dropped to the ground. I snatched it up and flung it to her—it wasn’t my coin, so there would be no problem there.

As usual, I was but the humble go-between.

She tucked the coin into her pocket, got into her car, and drove out of the lot.

The large monetary exchange between her and Alpha Floyd had taken place earlier, for an entirely different book, sidestepping the curse. Gnath was the owner of the grimoire now. He alone carried the curse that damned him to Hell, and since he was technically dead—or at least, un-alive—the curse reacted instantly.

The opening that had brought him from Purgatory to the circle cinched closed, and another ripped open. This one was ragged-edged and covered with frost, a serrated slash in the pachyderm-thick hide between our world and what looked like an icy corner of Hell.

“No, please. Please,” Gnath said, in the most unenthusiastic way possible. He was the absolute worst actor. How had Kale and Denzel fallen for his god act?

I began chanting loudly, my focus on the grimoire in Gnath’s hands. If he decided to be a dick and take it with him, I was screwed. And so was Gladys.

“Help, witch. Don’t allow me to be cursed to Hades,” Gnath spoke the words as if he were reading from a cue card and chucked the book at me. “Take that, you beastly woman. I won’t go. Never.Nevah, I say.”

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