Page 106 of Bedeviled

Rivulets of blood are still slipping out of my neck, and my vision is clouding at the corners. I part my lips as though to answer the creature, lightly placing my hand on its side.

“Sleep,” I incant.

The spell works better than it should have.

The creature’s eyes flutter closed, and it goes limp. Its body cants to the side, sliding off me. As soon as it hits the ground, however, it startles awake, its eyes open, its brows coming together.

I sit up, and now my vision fully darkens as I grope for the demon again. “Obso,” I say in Sarmatian.

Sleep.

This time when the creature closes his eyes, they remain shut.

I’m trembling as I slide myself out from under the demon’s legs, trying not to panic about the amount of blood seeping from my wound, the woozy way I feel, or the fact that Kane still lies unmoving in the distance.

… Mistress of old, let us have another taste…the Hungering Ones whisper.

Ignoring them, I press a hand to the messy injury at my neck. “Seal the flesh, heal the wound,” I incant.

I grimace against the sickening sensation of skin, sinew, and muscles tugging themselves together.

It takes longer than it should before I feel the injury fully close.

Once the pain vanishes, I lower my blood-slickened hand and stand on shaky feet. My mind is still a haze, but I know with absolute certainty that this demon will come for me as soon as it’s able to. It cannot die nor, I assume, can it be banished to hell at the moment, and my spells will only hold for so long.

I wipe my dagger off on my pants, then sheathe it. Remembering my pouch, I open it up and rummage through it. I no longer have any holy water, which might’ve been useful … or it might’ve just pissed the demon off.

There’s chalk, which would be helpful if I were indoors but it won’t help here. My fingers close over another vial. I hold it up to the moonlight, hearing the grains shiver inside it. Blessed salt.

Unstoppering the vial, I carefully begin to pour its contents in a circle around the sleeping demon.

Somewhere behind me I hear a soft groan. Then the halting footsteps and labored breaths of what must be Kane.

“Don’t come any closer,” I say softly, afraid to rouse the demon before I’m ready.

A growl rises in Kane’s throat, clearly bristling at the direct order, but he follows it all the same.

“Your neck,” he says, his nostrils flaring.

“It’s fine now—I healed it.” I don’t mention that there’s a darkness that still clings to the edges of my vision or that I feel cold and lightheaded.

When I glance over at him, I see the wolf at the back of Kane’s eyes, and though his muscle spasms are not nearly as dramatic as Sybil’s, I can see the subtle way his body trembles with the need to shift.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Trapping a demon,” I say, closing the circle. “But if you break the line of salt, he gets out—oh and don’t reach in either—he can drag you in there with him.”

Fierce, cunning queen, I couldn’t be prouder, Memnon says with a conviction I wish I felt.

I don’t respond, but I have no doubt Memnon can sense the warmth that spreads through me at his praise.

“Bind this circle so that nothing may escape,” I incant. I add a little bit of the blood on my fingers to finish activating it.

My magic blooms around the circle like fire catching. I see the thin orange film of it rise, connecting like a dome at the top of the circle. Beneath the earth, I sense the rest of the spell circle form, the entire thing a solid, magical sphere.

“Obat’iwavak.”

Wake.