Page 10 of Grimoire Omens

“Ooh, I hear a backstory.” Flo clapped her hands. “What happened? How did you get cursed?”

“By trickery,” Cedric hissed. “I didn’t always wear this shape, but centuries ago, a powerful wizard captured my spirit by cutting down my tree.”

“You’re a dryad?” Flo exclaimed, more familiar with fantasy stuff than me, although the word did sound familiar.

“Was,” his sour reply. “The wizard required a powerful familiar to aid with his spells and so he bound my spirit into this shape and then tethered me to serve whoever owned the Grimoire. A book that has been passed down through the generations, with your grandmother being its most recent owner.”

“And now me!” I chirped, earning myself a dark look.

“You’re not a witch.”

“I beg to differ. I cast a spell.”

“Badly. You lack the years of training to claim that title.”

“And yet, look who opened a door to Hell,” I chirped. “What can I say? I must have natural talent.”

A noise of disgust spewed from Cedric. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to speak with you. It’s a waste of air, seeing as how your ignorance will get you killed.”

“Which leaves you where?” I asked. “Will you be freed if I’m dead and no one inherits the book?”

“Even if you die, the book will find a new owner. It always does.” An ominous mutter.

I might have asked another question, only a scratching at the door drew my attention. “Is that another demon?”

“Yes. Can’t you smell it?”

“I’d rather not,” I huffed. I glanced at Flo. “Get your frying pan ready.”

“What are you going to use? Because that stool wasn’t the best weapon last time,” she remarked.

“Agreed.” I cast a glance around, but before I could snag a knife from the butcher block, Cedric sighed again. Apparently, his thing. “Check under the sink.”

“Pretty sure the scrubbing mop isn’t going to do shit. Although that lemon-scented degreaser might act as a pepper spray if I can spritz it in the eyes,” I mused aloud.

“Idiot.” Cedric sauntered over to the sink as the scratching on the door turned into rattling. “Tap the panel on the front of the sink.”

“Why?” I asked as I gave it a light smack.

“Harder,” he growled.

I banged it with my fist while exclaiming, “Oh my gawd, there’s nothing—” Thump. The panel popped open, revealing a secret compartment and— “Holy shit. There’s a sword.”

“Long dagger, actually. You might want to grab it because I do believe the demon is coming in.”

The kitchen door slammed open, the frame splintering with the force of the invasion, and in barged a hideous beast. Imagine Venom’s really, really ugly cousin. Slick black skin. Two big black orbs for eyes. No nose, just holes above a mouth that put a shark to shame. Oh, and its fingers? More like great big claws.

I’ll admit, I stared. I mean it’s not every day a fucking monster shows up in your kitchen, a big one that made the imp we’d handled look like a baby. In even worse news, it headed for me.

I squeaked and suddenly thought to grab the dagger, whirling with it in time to have it slapped out of my hand. So much for my career as a demon assassin.

As its freakishly long arm pulled back, readying to swipe those finger scythes across my soft, and squishy, flesh, Flo uttered a yell worthy of a warrior and swung her mighty frying pan.

Boing.

It made an impressive noise as it connected with the demon’s shoulder. Alas, it had no effect unless the backhand that sent Flo reeling counted. She ended up hitting the floor on her ass with a squeak. But in good news, no blood.

The demon’s mouth opened into what I took to be a grin but could also double as sphincter tightener. The creature turned its attention back to me, and I could see my death in its freaky black orbs. It wasn’t pretty.