Page 3 of Infernal Bindings

I tug at the very short hemline of my sparkly pink gown. “A little.”

“You don’t have to go through with it, you know? The Septem would gladly take you in.”

Right. The dark wielders my aunt had secretly joined. Of course they’d take me; my soul already belongs to one of their demons, even if it was by accident. I ignore Daemon and peer around the limo for my clutch purse—this strappy little thing, embroidered in iridescent pink pearls. It belonged to my grandmother, who’s no doubt rolling in her grave at the thought of me alone with an incubus. I snap it open and withdraw matching pearl earrings and a choker with a dainty silver clasp.

I don’t have to ask Daemon to help me with it. Wordlessly, he takes the choker and threads it around my neck, his breath hot on my skin. I fight the goosebumps trailing down my arms, the shudder that makes me want to sink into his touch.

This isn’t real, I remind myself. It’s a side effect of what he is.

As I finish securing my earrings, the limo slows to a graceful stop on a gravel road. I squint past its tinted windows to the enormous castle in front of me, then swallow. Christ, there’s a lot of witches out there, and every last one is dressed in their most expensive clothes. They gossip around the horseshoe drive and guzzle from champagne flutes near the outer gardens. They laugh and joke and smile like old friends.

I feel every bit as small and out of place as I did the day I summoned Daemon for the first time.

“Hey, you’ll be okay.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Who cares what they think, anyway?”

I do.

I always have.

“I’ll come with you.”

The image alone is enough to make me snort. “Could you imagine? A demon at a light witch’s baptism? Our coven leaders would explode.”

“I don’t see a downside.” His red eyes glint at the prospect. Then he blinks and his whole body ripples. His large frame shrinks into something lithe and thin. Black locks become long and strawberry blonde, and breasts emerge where his flat chest had once been. In a matter of seconds, Daemon morphs into the spitting image of my oldest sister, save for the ruby irises that mark him for what he is.

I roll my eyes. “What are you going to do? Wear sunglasses the entire time?” As if on command, he reaches into his now-baggy suit jacket and removes a pair of designer sunglasses, placing them over his eyes. Ridiculous. “It’s the middle of the night. You look stupid.”

A grin spreads across his plump feminine lips, but he doesn’t take the glasses off.

“Do not get out of this car,” I warn him, voice stern. “That’s an order.”

“Pffft,” he crosses his arms. The sound is high pitched—an uncanny match for his new body. “You know, when you die, I’ll be the one giving these orders for a change.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groan. It sounds playful. It is playful, though I shudder to think what might happen to me when I’m in Hell—the literal, biblical Hell—with him. Will our relationship be as it is now, or will he torture me? How much of our friendship is real and how much of it is him pretending until the contract comes due?

I think learning I truly have no friends would break me worse than anything else he might do to me down there.

“Stay put,” I say again, reaching for the door handle. I glance between him and the party-goers then back again. Daemon can’t disobey me when I boss him around, but taking away his free will has never quite landed right with me. Tonight is no different. So, I soften the command and give him the choice. “Please.”

And then I step from the car into a sea of witches.

“Oh, thank God,” my mom sighs as she steps around the corner of the crowded hallway and peers first at me, then to the spaces surrounding me, searching for Daemon no doubt. Her high heels clack against the white marble floor, and her white ballgown swishes with every step. She looks more like a bride than a coven elder with her thick tulle skirt, glittering diamond-imbued bodice, and puffy long sleeves.

Fucking gag me.

I could never dress in something so attention-grabbing. For starters, I lack the curves for it. But also, the idea of everyone’s eyes drawn to me, analyzing me for imperfections, makes my skin crawl. It looks good on her, though. Shoulders back, head raised, she walks with the confidence of someone who’s been here a hundred times before—and she has, even though she doesn’t look it. Like all baptized light witches, my mom is permanently frozen in her twenties.

We could be sisters.

Blonde curls bouncing, Mom closes the distance between us, then guides me into a recessed alcove overlooking a hedge maze in the backyard. “I’m so glad you left him at home, sweetheart. Your father was convinced you wouldn’t.”

A frown threatens the corner of her mouth as she scans my outfit, then begins patting me down, fidgeting with my clothing and hair, tugging at the hemline of my dress as if by sheer will alone she can make it stretch another few inches. I squirm under the scrutiny, though I have no reason to. When I purchased the gown, Daemon assured me that everyone my age would be wearing something similar, and he’s never wrong—not when it comes to fashion, anyway. Still, my cheeks flame and I can’t help but wish the hemline was a bit longer too.

I tuck a loose curl behind my ear, refusing to meet Mom’s hazel eyes—the same shade as my own—when I admit to her that Dad was right. Sort of. “I, um…I left Daemon in the car. He won’t come inside or anything…I don’t think.”

“You didn’t.” The exasperation is thick in her voice. But she knows as well as anyone that Daemon always appears when I need him. At school recitals. Mid-prom. To botched birthday parties and lame family barbecues. It’s not his fault or mine. It’s part of our fucked up contract.

I give her a wry smile. “He knows how important this is to me. He won’t ruin it.”