Page 63 of Infernal Bindings

Minerva wipes her eyes and shrugs. “He’d be pissed if I let anything happen to you.”

30

LAST DITCH EFFORT

Alone, I enter Daemon’s bedroom. I expect to find it more or less the same as we left it, but no. The constant smoke has cleared, taking with it the sweet smells I’ve gotten used to. The red lights are brighter, more intense, and junk is piled everywhere. There’s so much stuff it touches the ceiling, and I have to wade through it to reach the bed. All of it is totally random and useless too.

It’s like a garbage dimension has exploded in here.

Gold coins jingle and roll onto the floor as I bump against a wardrobe—or at least I think it’s a wardrobe—half-standing on its side, half-lying on a couch. Designer clothes drape over the sides and bottom of it, and I kick them away. More items fall from the pile into my pathway—silky lingerie, a pink dildo as large as my forearm, and fuzzy cuffs that look fresh out of a 1970s porno.

Gross.

I step over them, realizing not only is Daemon a hoarder, but every item he’s ever vanished away is now here, in this nightmare of a room. Whatever place he used to store them in before is gone now, because he’s gone now, and even as I curse at the inconvenient mess, I fight back more tears. I’m through with crying, at least for now. I need a pain reliever for my blooming headache, and sleep for everything else. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with cleaning this up. Tonight, I’ll rest.

Stepping around toy blocks and a pottery wheel from that art class we took together freshman year of college, I finally, thankfully, reach the bed. The stacks of nonsense have somehow missed it, and for that I’m grateful. Sighing, I kick off my shoes and shove the red canopy aside.

But the bed isn’t empty after all.

In the center of it is a rolled-up scroll of parchment, a red bow tied around it like it’s a gift. Gingerly, I pick it up and peel the bow free, flinging it into the surrounding garbage. As I unspool the stiff and crinkling parchment, hundreds of rust-colored, infernal names come into view, more than half of them scratched off. Daemon’s list.

Somehow, he must have left it here for me to find.

My heart races as I dig through my pockets to check the clock. I still have time—not a lot of it, but maybe it’s enough. Then I frown. Why would Daemon leave this here? Without him, there’s no way to access the club. And once I’m there, how would I blend in? It’s not as if I have a demon to escort me, and there weren’t a lot of pets unattended.

It feels like a suicide mission.

Then, there’s also the problem of tonight. Even if I found the murderer, Salios may still want to punish Daemon for illegally entering the rotunda and falsely accusing a Regent. But if Daemon didn’t think there was any hope for him—for us—why leave the list on display?

It doesn’t make sense.

I must be missing something.

The minutes tick by on my phone. One minute. Four. Seven.

God, I don’t have time to puzzle out what I’m meant to do. If he wants me to finish the list, there aren’t enough hours in the night to sit here and think about it; there’s only time to act. I pocket my phone and grasp the scroll in my fist, taking extra care with it because whatever happens to the parchment happens to Daemon, and I don’t want him hurting any more than he already is.

There’s exactly one person I know who’s spent extensive time with an incubus, possibly in Hell. If anyone knows how I can get into the club and finish our investigation, it’s Daemon’s mother.

I waste no time scrambling through the garbage and up the stairs toward her bedroom. The gilded door is already open, and she’s sitting on her bed, surrounded by half a dozen spellbooks. A pair of reading glasses has fallen low on her nose, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Licking her thumb and index finger, she flips through several pages in the book closest to her and reads it under her breath.

“Minerva?” I ask.

Pausing, she glances up at me and motions for me to come inside. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” she admits. “Maybe a spell that could turn him mortal. If he has a mortal soul, he can’t be kept in Hell unless he’s dead or voluntarily enters there.”

She doesn’t need to say who he is.

“Can a demon be turned mortal?” I ask.

“Unknown.” She flips another page. “Unlikely.”

I stare at my cell phone and open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off before I can, still flipping through the books. “What I really want is the tethering spell,” she admits, like I’m supposed to know what that means.

I take the bait, fighting not to tap my foot against the polished tiles. “What’s a tethering spell?”

“It’s a myth,” she says. “Do you know why Salios fell from grace? What made him stop being an archangel?”

“No.” But I do know it’s been exactly fourteen minutes since I found that scroll.