Page 174 of Bedeviled

There’s no time for second-guessing this.

I close my eyes, my lower jaw shaking as I focus on my power. I feel thick ropes of it flood down my arms.

No more rhymes, no more uncertainty.

When I speak, my words are firm. “Fly where I will it,” I command the rug in Sarmatian.

I bite back a relieved cry when it lifts into the air.

Several sets of feet pound up the stairs. The raven-haired demon I spotted earlier is the first one to make it up to the third floor.

I fling a burst of magic at the window, and I hear the satisfying sound of glass shattering and the wet chill of the air as it blows into the house.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” the demon insists.

As more demons rush up the stairs behind him, the raven-haired demon lunges for the edge of the rug and tugs it to him, nearly throwing me and Nero off in the process. I have to grab the lip of it to keep myself on it, holding on tightly when my panther’s body knocks into mine.

“See,” the demon says, reeling me and Nero in as more demons gather behind him, “we were promised that, short of death, we could do whatever we pleased to you and your cat. And we quite like the prospect of breaking you in ways you cannot imagine.”

The demon reaches for me, and I pull in my legs, but not fast enough. He catches one of them by the ankle, looking so fucking gleeful as he yanks on it. And I have the absolute pleasure of smashing my other boot into the demon’s face.

I hear cartilage crunch and his pained shriek. He stumbles back into the rest of the demons, blood streaming from his nostrils and onto his upper lip.

I can be dense, and I can be foolish. But I am also the wrong witch to fuck with.

“May your nose set like shit, motherfucker.”

A burst of my magic releases from my hands, propelling the rug toward the broken window.

My power catches Nero as he slips a little, and the orange plumes of it wrap around him and myself, securing us both to the carpet.

The other demons who have reached the top floor of the secret library now hurtle forward, toward the rug. If they manage to grab it, we might be done for.

The moon shines above, and I draw on it, feeling the way the soft light flows through my veins.

I form that power in my palms and whisper a spell.

“Explode.”

And then I lob it.

Magic and flame erupt, knocking demons back.

And then, for good measure, I lob another spell—one that lights the room on fire.

I’ll apologize to Memnon later. This is the second time I’ve burned one of his houses. I try not to think about the books that will catch like kindling, books that are already dear to me.

“There!” I call out as the flames leap and spread. “Bet it feels homier now!”

And then, with an unhinged cackle, Nero and I fly off into the night.

CHAPTER 42

Flying a magic carpet is essentially the same concept as flying a broom. Both require some balance. The rug is arguably more comfortable, but it also feels easier to fall off. And I can tell my familiar absolutely loathes the experience.

Nero and I jet across the sky, the chilled ocean breeze icy against my cheeks.

My heart is still hammering a mile a minute, and I have to press a hand to my chest just to catch my breath.