the light side.” She moved her hefty frame around the counter to stand in front of him. The beads on her wrists clicked when she moved. The scent of patchouli and lavender wafted to his nose. “But I take it, since you’re here, that’s going to change.”
“I need some supplies.”
She sighed heavily, as though she was going to deny him, but she swept her arm toward the back curtain. She never said no; she just liked to put on the drama. She knew he was one of her best customers. He and the Crimson Hall Cabal.
“Come on, then.”
Quinn followed her into the back where she kept her stores of “other” types of metaphysical supplies. The type reserved for those who dabbled in the darker side of the magical arts.
“What do you need?”
Quinn examined the shelves of bottles and tins. “Goofer dust, asafoetida, horehound, another blessed chalk stick and some yarrow.”
Mary narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you calling?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The stuff you’re asking for, Quinn, is for calling forth a powerful demon and keeping it in line. Who is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do you have the stuff or not?” He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket.
She nodded and went to the shelves to start pulling down jars. “I have everything you need.” She stacked it all on the table. She sighed. “Between you and the Cabal, I’m surprised demons aren’t running amok on this plane.”
Quinn opened his leather satchel and shoved the ingredients inside. He peeled off money and handed it to her.
Mary slid it into the pocket of her flowered housedress but pinned him with a hard glare. “Be careful, Quinn. You’re playing with fire.”
He nodded. “I know. But it has to be done.” Closing his bag, he hefted it onto his shoulder and left the store, his heart as heavy as the bag he carried.
When he got home, he went straight down to the basement to prepare. Using his new blessed chalk he drew a large pentagram on the cement floor, inscribing it with familiar symbols. Symbols he’d been using his whole life as an exorcist and demon hunter. He left two open triangles in the pentagram. This was where he would put the two sigils that would call the demon he needed. They’d been burned into his memory. But for different reasons.
He chalked them in. Around the pentagram he sifted a thick line of goofer dust. It was a protective circle. The demon couldn’t cross it if Quinn didn’t want it to. And until he got a binding agreement, he didn’t plan on letting the demon go anywhere.
Once that was done, Quinn set everything aside, lit seven white candles and started the ritual.
In Latin, he spoke the words to invoke the spell, then he called the demon using its real name. The one that gave him power over it.
“I call you, Daeva, Seductress of Shadows.”
At first nothing happened, and Quinn wondered if he’d mistakenly written the symbols backward or upside down. But then a slight breeze blew through the basement. None of the windows were open. Then came the smell. The delectable scent of cinnamon. He tried not to inhale it. But it was difficult not to. Cinnamon had always been one of his favorite smells. It made his gut clench with the memories it brought.
Three popping sounds echoed in the room. Like fingers snapping.
Then it appeared.
Dressed in tight black pants, black leather knee-high boots and a sapphire-blue blouse that accentuated full, firm breasts, the demon smiled at him, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced down his back.
“Hello, lover.”
“You look surprised to see me, Quinn.” Tilting her head, she looked him up and down. “Oh, that’s right. You never did get to see me in my preferred form. You were so quick to get rid of me. Never gave me a chance to introduce myself properly.”
It had been three years since Daeva had seen Quinn Strom. And she had to admit that he looked as dangerous and delicious as ever. His inner darkness called to her like a moth to a flame. But she couldn’t let him see that. She couldn’t let him have the upper hand here. She’d never give it to him again.
“How’s my favorite exorcist?”
“I didn’t call you to have a trite and pointless conversation.”
“No? Too bad. That’s definitely one thing I missed about you.”
She saw him bristle and grinned. Score one for Daeva.
Quinn had always prided himself on his ability to speak on all kinds of subjects. On several occasions, he’d bored her to tears. But she’d listened to him attentively. That was what a person did when they were in love.
Love. Ha. Quinn Strom knew nothing about the emotion. If he had, he’d never have done what he did to her.
But, alas, she obviously was not here to discuss the past. Quinn had something dire to talk to her about, or he would never have called her forth. Never. She knew him well enough to know that he held a grudge the way a miser held money.
“So, to what do I owe this utmost pleasure of seeing your handsome face again?” Although she had her suspicions that it had everything to do with her twelve-hour torture session and Klaven’s questions.
Thankfully, that had ended without Daeva revealing much of anything—nothing important anyway. He’d poked and prodded at her until he’d gotten bored. And her restorative powers made it look like she’d barely been bruised. Although the truth was it had taken a lot out of her and she was feeling its effects.
“I need information.”
“I gathered that. On what?”
“The Chest of Sorrows.”
And there it was. She’d known it deep down, the moment she’d heard that the little goblin Loir had gone topside for a key. Loir had confirmed it herself when she snuck into Daeva’s chambers as she healed from her torture session to warn her. Sorcerers used goblins for some of their work. She assumed it was one of the cabals that had stolen the key from the great Quinn Strom. She was surprised he was still alive.
“What do you want to know that you don’t already?” she asked.
He paced nervously in front of the pentagram. Usually he paced when he wasn’t quite confident in what he was doing or the decisions he was making. “Where is it?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?”
“Yes, I do.” He gave her a hard stare.
She’d always loved his gray-green eyes. They were so intense. Always
