Page 59 of Infernal Bindings

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “Thank you for trying.” I try to hide the disappointment from my voice, but probably fail. Daemon, on the other hand, rolls his eyes and scoffs, muttering something about how he knew it was a waste of time. I ignore him. “Maybe we missed something on the surveillance footage and need to look at it again.”

Wherever Christopher is, multiple voices echo. Probably the rotunda. “Yeah, but that’s not happening tonight. Both me and your dad will be required at the baptism… Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

“I— Christopher—” This shouldn’t be happening over the phone. Before I can admit the truth though, he cuts me off.

“Gabriel still wants you to get baptized. Raphael has been pushing for it too. The elders won’t stop you from coming if that’s what you want. You don’t have to give an answer now, just think about it.”

But there’s nothing to think about.

Like Daemon said, an eternal life means nothing if the angels would keep us apart. But this goes deeper than that, beyond the two of us. I don’t want to serve an angel who might order me to kill Septem witches, and I don’t want my magic to be used to further their agendas. The manipulation, the forced killings, who could know about that and still choose one of them?

“I have to go,” Christopher says. “I hope to see you tonight.”

Someone says something to him about finding security guards, and the phone cuts out. When I peer back at Daemon, he’s sitting on a couch—the one near the window—and peeking out the velvet curtain.

“Maybe I did do it,” he whispers, lost in thought. “Not consciously, but in Hell Salios can puppet our bodies. I didn’t think that power extended to Earth, but I could be wrong.”

“You’d know it if you killed someone,” I tell him, reluctantly climbing out of the tub. The cold air hits me all at once, but before I can so much as shiver, Daemon snaps his fingers. He isn’t even looking at me, but a plush red robe wraps around my body. The belt cinches itself tight.

Padding toward him, I join him on the couch and place a hand on his shoulder. He still doesn’t look at me. “You didn’t do this, Daemon.”

“I could have,” he admits. “And if Salios didn’t want me to remember, I wouldn’t. This could have been a set-up from the very beginning. Salios could have used me to kill Martha so he didn’t technically break the treaty. Then he’d have to make a show of punishing me to keep the angels happy. Getting you was just an added bonus.”

I shake my head because that’s too defeatist even for me. If Daemon is right, this ticking clock was an illusion, and my soul belonged to Salios the moment I struck the bargain. “There has to be another answer.”

“We went through the tapes,” Daemon says. “We investigated all the witches that we clocked on them. If it was one of them, they did a good job hiding from the cameras.”

No, they didn’t.

Realization hits me like a punch.

There was one witch with long sleeves that night who Dad, Christopher, and I all saw. The same witch who wore gloves after the murder, while handling Martha’s body. Someone nobody would suspect because we saw her memories, but memories mean nothing if she summoned a demon into the rotunda before the ceremony began.

“I think I know who did it,” I say, and it makes me sick just thinking about it.

Daemon’s brows furrow. He drops the curtain and stares at me. “Who?”

“My mom.”

28

THE BAPTISM - TAKE TWO

Unlike last time, I don’t take a limo to the baptism; I take Daemon’s motorcycle, and I take Daemon too, on prominent display for everyone to see. We’re both dressed in black riding gear—leather jackets, matching pants, and thick buckled combat boots, like we’re going to war. In a way, I suppose we are. Or at least I am.

Daemon wraps his arms around my waist as I throttle the engine, zipping through traffic as fast as this bike can go. Colors whirl around us, muted only by my helmet’s tinted visor. I laugh at how tightly Daemon’s clutching me. It’s so dramatic considering demons can’t die—not even half-demons like him.

Gravel crunches underneath the tires, kicking up plumes of dust. Trees form a tight wall on either side of the bike as we near the castle and the coven I once dreamed of being part of. Choosing Daemon didn’t destroy my dreams, though. It clarified them.

In truth, I never wanted to be a light witch—not really—otherwise I would have researched the angels the first time around. I would have asked questions. I would have learned from my family what their duties entailed. Instead, I spent all my time with Daemon, then lamented that I didn’t belong. But I’ve always belonged. With him.

Now, more than ever, I’m sure of it.

For thirteen years, I was searching for something I already had, since the first moment I summoned him.

I brake a little too abruptly, and the motorcycle lurches to a halt, sending both of us jerking forward. Daemon rips his helmet off and tosses it into the grass.

“This is the last time I let you drive,” he tells me.