Chaos and Ash, page 3
I missed the heck out of Cinder. My parents too. But I refused to get all blubbery over it again. Tears wouldn’t bring them back. Actions might, but so far, none of our attempts had done a lick of good.
We’d tried scrying, location spells, talking to everyone who knew her, even in passing. Nothing. It was like she’d dropped off the face of the earth. We’d even filed a missing person report with the human police. She either didn’t want to be found or she really had disintegrated into the ether. That or she somehow got sucked through to the other side of the veil, and if that were the case, she was as good as gone forever.
Anyway, I’d managed to keep the feels in check thus far. No need to go slogging down memory lane now.
I followed the floorboards around the entire room and didn’t find any panels. Ember had done a good job after all. A sweep of my phone’s flashlight beneath the bed revealed nothing but a few dust bunnies. No latches. No disturbances in the wood. That left one place Ember might have missed.
Rising to my feet, I tugged on the mattress, but it didn’t budge. Weird. It wasn’t some ultra-thick support mattress. I should have been able to at least slide it to the side, but it was stuck. Magically stuck.
“Cinder, Cinder. I’ve found your secret stash, haven’t I?” I hovered my hands above the sheets, and sure enough, magic tingled on my palms. A simple weight spell held the mattress in place, or so I assumed. The cloaking spell masked the true magic, so she must’ve counted on that to do all the work. This weight spell was Witchy 101 stuff. I didn’t even need a potion to cancel it, as long as she hadn’t amplified it to fight back. Surely she wouldn’t do that to me twice.
“Light as a feather, soft as down, I turn this spell right around.” The air thickened and then popped, releasing the pressure as the charm disintegrated.
My stomach tightened as my fingers slid beneath the mattress. Lifting it was a breeze without the spell in place, and lo and behold, there on the boxed springs sat volume two of my sigil collection. Next to it lay a leather-bound book with the Tree of Life debossed on the cover. A piece of brown twine wrapped around it, securing the pages closed.
I grabbed them both before letting the mattress fall back into place. Why in the goddess’s name would she hide this volume? Or better yet, who was she hiding it from?
Not me. I’d memorized every sigil in this book years ago, and Ember couldn’t be bothered to learn them. I pursed my lips, my gaze shifting from my book to the leather one.
“Ugh. Whatever.” I had it back, and that was what mattered. Now I could get on with the cataloging I should have done a month ago.
I pulled the door shut behind me and made my way downstairs to the library, where I dropped into my chair and laid the books on the desk. The leather one I had never seen before, so I untied the twine and opened it to what should have been the title page. But this wasn’t a book. It was a diary.
Cinder’s diary.
I slammed it shut and fumbled with the twine. Once I secured it, I slid it into the drawer and rested my elbows on the desk, pressing my fingers to my temples. I didn’t keep a diary myself. My innermost thoughts were best left deep in the recesses of my mind, and my sister’s needed to remain in hers.
Eyeing the journal in the open drawer, I chewed my bottom lip. It was tempting, I’d give it that, and if I were ten years younger, I would have dived right in. At twenty-four, I could control my urges now…most of the time.
I shoved it closed and picked up the sigil volume, fanning through the pages. As I rose to place it on the shelf, a thick piece of yellowing parchment drifted to the floor. Huh. This book was old, but not that old. The pages had just begun to turn around the edges. The loose one could’ve been printed a few hundred years ago.
I snatched it up and sank into my chair before turning on the desk lamp. My pulse sprinted as I unfolded it and found a set of three sigils I had never seen before. Centered down the middle of the page, the symbols appeared hand drawn. The patterns of the ink indicated the artist had used a quill rather than a pen. Intricate arrays of curved and straight lines crisscrossed and coiled into elaborate designs no amateur could accomplish with a tattoo machine. These were graduate-level sigils, if I’d ever seen any.
The only other writing on the page was a single word beneath each design:
Chaos.
Mayhem.
Discord.
“What the ever-loving…?” I traced my finger over the top design. The coarseness of the paper felt rough against my skin. “Where did you get this, Cin?”
The back of the page was blank. No header or footer or even a page number to give a clue as to where it came from. A black magic tome, possibly? Maybe, but no sinister vibrations emanated from the page. I couldn’t feel any magic at all. Could Cinder have neutralized it?
I wasn’t sure, but curiosity had me itching to try one out. Power over chaos? Yes, please. With a snap of my fingers, I could have the library organized and cataloged in an instant. Maybe then I could catch up on my reading goal.
Long strides carried me out of the library toward the front of the building. My tattoo machine sat on its stand, a fresh supply of ink on the shelf above it. I set the parchment on the table, but I hesitated to set up the device.
My dad had warned me never to try a new sigil alone, and he was talking about the ones from our collection. Without knowing where this one came from, I had no clue how my body would react if I did it wrong.
But when was the last time I’d messed up a sigil—besides protection, which was the trickiest one? Years ago, at least. I was well on my way to becoming an Ink Master if I still had a master to train under.
I crossed my arms, tapping my foot as I stared at the page. Ember would be gone for hours. My inbox was empty, which meant no one had leads on any new disturbances in the veil. The coven wouldn’t need me for a while, and if anyone botched a spell, they could see our resident healer, Patrice.
The front door was still locked. I had an hour before the tourist shop was supposed to open. A smile tugged at my lips. “Let’s do this.”
Was it reckless? Probably, but Ember didn’t own the market on heedless decisions. Bookish girls could be rebellious too.
Besides, our lives had been total chaos for six months, first with my parents’ deaths and then with Cinder’s disappearance. A little control over the uncontrollable would be welcomed by us all.
I practiced first with pen and paper, gently tracing the design to get a feel for the dips and curves. Sigil tattoos had to be drawn freehand for the magic to work, so I drew it on another sheet and compared the two. It was as perfect a match as could be. Easy peasy. I had this.
With my mind made up, I poured the magical ink into my favorite well and rolled up my sleeve. If this sigil lasted the full six hours, imagine what I could get done. Excitement bubbled in my stomach as I attached the needle and turned on the machine.
The first curve of the design hurt like a bitch. The skin on the inside of the wrist was thin, which made it a painful place for tattoos. Chaos’s symbol was long, though, so I needed my entire forearm to make sure I got the proportions right.
I winced with the next line. I’d forgotten just how painful these could be. The third line extended up my arm, almost to my elbow, before bending down and swirling a bit like a treble clef. Deep breath in. Long exhale. The needle pulsed in and out of my skin so rapidly that the noise sounded like a vibration.
Sharp pain in my temple told me I was clenching my teeth, so I relaxed my jaw and put the final swoop on the design. My entire body tingled. Both channeling magic and receiving it felt like the kind of adrenaline rush you’d get before skydiving. Or so I imagined. You’d never see me jumping out of a perfectly good airplane on purpose.
With the machine back on its rack, I held up my arm to admire my work. It looked exactly like the original. Time to light this baby up.
I reached into my pocket for the Zippo, but my hand met an empty pouch of fabric. I patted down my jeans, but the familiar metal rectangle didn’t protrude from any of my pockets. Crappity crap. I must’ve left it in my room.
Call me lazy, but I did not feel like traipsing all the way back upstairs to get it. Ember would tell me to use my fire magic. A little spark was all I needed to activate the sigil. If I had drawn this on anyone else, I wouldn’t dare. One little flash from me would likely go haywire and singe someone’s eyebrows.
A new sigil on myself, though… Why the hell not?
I rubbed the tips of my fingers against my thumb, charging up my magic. My palm pricked with energy, and I focused it into my index finger before pointing it at my arm. Heat rolled from my chest outward until a tiny flame shot out, lighting the design on fire.
It glowed bright crimson like it was supposed to, but as the flames subsided, it didn’t fade to cool blue. The sigil remained red, undulating like hot magma flowing through a tunnel.
Uh oh. That didn’t look good.
Nausea churned in my stomach, and my breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. My head spun. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the dizzying sensation to pass. A garbled roar sounded from somewhere outside, but I couldn’t be bothered to look out the window. I was too busy trying to keep from passing out.
“Ouch. Son of a bitch.” I clutched my head, applying pressure to counter the skull-splitting sensation.
The garbled roar grew louder. “Who dares summon Chaos?”
Seriously? Was another tour guide going off-script? Our city was so rich in history and horror, yet some tour companies always felt the need to embellish the truth for better ratings.
Wait. Did he say…chaos? The sigil on my arm pulsed. Nah, that would be too much of a coincidence. Still…
I stumbled to the window to get a look at the culprit, but the street lay empty. Not a soul in sight. The roar filled my head, nearly bursting my eardrums. “Answer me!”
My stomach lurched. I barely made it to the trash can in time to stop the partially digested fruity cereal from spilling all over the floor. I heaved again, and again the voice roared.
Holy mother of the devil himself. That raspy, roaring voice hadn’t come from outside. It had come from inside.
Inside me.
CHAPTER THREE
I swear my brain rattled in my skull; the voice shook me so hard. My stomach was finally empty, though, so that was a plus. Pressing the heels of my hands against my temples, I stumbled to my feet. A growl rumbled between my ears. What the hell had I just done?
The page of sigils lay on the counter, so I grabbed it and paced to the library. This headache was bad enough to unalive me. Hopefully it wouldn’t hinder my magic before I found a cure. I had to find the book of healing spells before I passed out from the pain. If the library was organized like it was supposed to be, I could open a drawer, find the little card for the book I needed, and know exactly where it was. Or, if it was organized like the plans I had for it, I could type spell to relieve headaches into the computer, and I’d get a list of possibilities with their locations in the stacks.
Instead, I had to use a location spell. A spell to find a freaking spell.
“Release me, witch,” the rumbling voice demanded.
“Believe me, buddy. As soon as I figure out how, I will.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for the incantation.
“Release me now! Where is my skull?” he screamed and then roared so loud my entire body shook.
“I don’t have your skull, but you’re about to crack mine.” I clutched my head, my nostrils flaring as I blew out a breath. “Listen, man…or monster. Whatever you are, if you don’t quiet down, I’m going to black out. Then I won’t be able to help either of us. I have to fix me before I can figure out how to fix you, so shut the eff up for a minute, okay?”
He growled at a tolerable level this time.
“What was lost will be found. Near or far, show me where you are.” I’d done this spell so many times I didn’t need a potion to activate it. The book tugged me toward it, and relief flooded my veins. I grabbed the volume from the shelf and returned to my desk to find headaches in the index. The pages rustled as I flipped to the spell.
“Thank the goddess.” It was a simple one. No potion required for this one, either. “May the light of the goddess lift my pain. My headache will ease like a cleansing rain.”
The splitting agony reduced to a dull ache, and I could finally think. Holy mother of magic. I had a voice inside my head, and it wasn’t the running dialog I constantly had with myself. My forearm throbbed, and I laid it on the table to find the sigil pulsing red.
“That is my mark.”
The pain in my head intensified, making me wince. “I need you to use your inside voice. You know…since you’re inside my head.”
“Why is my mark on your person?”
My person? Who talked like that? Better question… “Who are you?”
“I am Chaos—” he started to boom.
I clutched my head again. “If that’s your inside voice, then you need to whisper. Seriously.”
A soft growl rumbled between my ears. “I am Chaos, Prince of Hell. Why did you summon me?”
“Prince of…” A maniacal giggle bubbled from my throat. No way. I had not done what I thought I’d just done. “You’re…” I bit my lip. “You’re saying you’re a demon?”
“A Prince of Hell.”
“Which is a demon.” I picked up the page of sigils. Demonic sigils. Oof.
“I am no simple fiend. I am of the highest level in Hell, a commander of armies, a destroyer of all who vex me.”
“Right, but you’re still a demon. I mean, all the creatures of Hell are some sort of demon, princes included. Is that correct?”
He grunted, clearly displeased with my assessment. “Yes.”
“Great. Now we’re getting somewhere. You’re a demon prince, and you’re inside my head. Want to tell me how you got there?” Because the only sigil I had ever flubbed was Cinder’s protection tattoo.
I laid my arm next to the design on the paper. It was a perfect match, so there had to be another reason why, instead of harnessing power over chaos, I’d invited Chaos to take up space in my head.
“How did you summon me from my imprisonment?”
Fantabulous. Not only had I possessed myself with a demon prince, but I’d nabbed one straight from his prison cell. He must’ve been a bad, bad boy. “Who threw you in the brig? Lucifer himself, Hades, or do you report to someone in the middle?”
“How did you summon me, witch?”
I blew out an exasperated breath. “We aren’t getting anywhere ignoring each other’s questions. First off, I have a name. It’s Ash, and I want you to use it. You say witch like it’s a bad thing to be.”
“It’s an abominable thing to be!”
“You think so, eh? And demons are soooo nice to be around.” Frakity frak. This guy had to go. Rather than sitting around and arguing with the voice in my head, I should be finding a spell to kick him to the curb. What volume would have the steps to perform an exorcism?
My own growl rumbled in my throat as I slammed the healing book shut and focused my energy. “What was lost will be found. Near or far, show me where you are. Exorcisms.”
“What are you doing, wi…Ash? You cannot exorcise a Prince of Hell. Not without my skull.”
“Watch me.” I rummaged through the stack of books where I felt the magic pull me, but the one the spell had led me to was for exiling fae back across the veil. Still, I flipped through the pages in hopes it had a chapter on demons. The most useful thing I found was a healing salve to spread over a faery bite. Those nasty little suckers had mouths full of razors. Tinkerbells they were not.
I cast the location spell again, this time making sure to focus on demon exorcisms. A crooked stack of books stood in front of me, threatening to tumble to the floor, but I couldn’t be bothered with it. I tiptoed around it, swinging my hips away from the pile to avoid giving it any incentive, and made my way to the back of the room.
The overhead lights barely illuminated this part of the library, so I relied on the magic to guide me to the right book. Covered with black leather, the tome vibrated in my hands as I picked it up and carried it back to my desk. An embossed pentagram took up most of the front cover, and the spine creaked when I opened it.
Fabulous. It was written entirely in Latin.
I whipped out my trusty cell phone and opened the translate app. Hovering the camera over the first page, I let it do its thing. You’d think, with how advanced AI was and all, that someone would have invented a spell-casting app by now. Just tell the software what you wanted to do, and it would scan all the documents on the witchy web and find you the perfect incantation.
Maybe I’d work on that after I organized the coven library. One thing at a time, Ash, and right now, I needed to get Chaos out of my head.
“Your attempts will be futile.” At least he’d learned to modulate his volume. “No simple witch can banish me.”
“I’m no simple witch.” Now it was my turn to boast. “I’m Ash Holland, as in the Holland witches of Salem. Direct descendent of the first High Priestess on this continent. The women in my family are so important, the men take our last name.” Not that I was all that important myself, but our lineage sure as hell was.
“A Holland witch,” he grumbled.
“Damn straight. Now that you know who you’re dealing with, zip it so I can send you on your way, mm-kay?”
He responded with silence. Halleluiah.
With the help of the translation app, I found an incantation for banishing a demon across the veil. It wasn’t exactly an exorcism, but it was close enough. I hoped. The translator was far from perfect, but I knew enough Latin to get the gist of what this spell would do. Honestly, I didn’t care where it sent Chaos, as long as he vacated my head.
