Page 8 of Raising the Sun

I frowned, and despite myself, there was actually a hint of disappointment welling in my gut. Had part of me, the really desperate part, hoped a miracle would materialise like a shooting star in front of my eyes? Or was I purely pissed off about the thirty seconds I’d wasted, which could’ve been spent shovelling ice cream into my gob instead?

I scanned the page, to be sure I hadn’t fucked up the incantation by missing a word or skipping a line. Nothing stood out, and with a quick double-take at my feet, I was certain I’d done everything else right. The placement of the items was correct, and the circle, bar the wonkiness, was still a damned circle. The spell just hadn’t fucking worked.

Of course it hasn’t, you colossal dipshit.

With a scoff, I crumpled the page in my fist before I threw it on the floor amongst the other rubbish. “Magic Shop? More like a fucking joke shop.”

I stared at the ceiling above my bed, where I’d been lying for an hour willing myself to just drift off. My mind was busy, as was typical, but tonight there was an added edge of despair that wouldn’t budge. It always happened after an order went pear-shaped. It made the feeling of failure increase tenfold, and the voices in the back of my mind grow louder andmore condescending. They told me there was no shame in giving up, that not everyone was cut out to run their own business—least of all me—and it was harder than it once had been to pretend they were wrong.

No matter what I did, it was as if I were destined to hit a snag at every turn. Hurdle after hurdle that most people would call ‘character building,’ but I saw as a fat fucking joke at my expense. Was it the universe agreeing with everyone else and sending me signs to pack up and move on? Or was I really that incompetent? I would have put it down to luck—or lack thereof—but I wasn’t much of a believer in that, either. People made their own luck through hard work and determination.

I obviously just hadn’t reached that quota.

With a huff, I shifted, burrowing further into my duvet burrito, making sure my feet were tucked in for that extra bubble of comfort. It took everything in me not to pick up my phone and doom-scroll the internet, to distract myself from sinking too far into my self-pity session, but that would do the opposite of help. Next thing I’d know, it’d be dawn and my alarm would be ringing for work, and there was only one thing worse than going downstairs to wait around all day for customers that never came—doing the same thing with no sleep.

Hard pass on that one.

I shut my eyes, forcing different, non-work-related scenarios into my head, hoping something would click. But just as I felt the edges of my consciousness slip away, there came a roaringwhoosh, a sound so unnatural that it made all the hair on my body stand on end. It was also the warning bell for the flames that followed, erupting like a torch doused in petrol at the bottom of my bed, sucking all the air out of the room.

Jerking upright, I scrambled to my hands and knees, pulse quick and fear overriding my senses.

Had a socket blown?

Had I plugged too many chargers into my extension?

My arms prickled with goosebumps as a tingle of something unfamiliar rolled over my skin, tense and heavy, and a curtain of smog replaced the fire. “What the…?”

There was a soft tinkling sound before a bejewelled hand—wrist adorned in bangles, and long fingers tipped with silver claw-shaped cuffs—swiped through the smoke as if dismissing a pest. The raging cloud dissipated to reveal its master: a tall, ginger-haired man with a lean figure, swathed in silks and veils of other lavish fabrics, now standing in the centre of the magic circle.

The gazelle-like black horns curving up from the top of his head were a little disconcerting, but could very well be a trick of the sleep-deprived variety. Or a headband, given all of his other decorations. Either way, I hadn’t the chance to scrutinise it as the stranger’s oval, muted-orange eyes pinned me with a hooded stare. Thick lashes fanned out from black liner, winged and catlike, and for a split second his pupils flared as bright as fire, making me gasp, before they flicked to his feet and narrowed in what looked like accusation.

My heart pounded in my throat as that piercing gaze returned to rake over me, arrogant yet sultry, and when our eyes met again, a wicked smirk spread across his face.

He parted his lips to speak, but, ever the master of impeccable timing, I beat him to it. Manners, given the circumstances, could go to hell.

“Who thefuckare you?!”

Chapter three

AMADEUS

How adorable.

Undeterred by the interruption, I allowed my grin to widen, revealing my fangs. The human’s breath hitched. “You summonedme, pet. I should be the one asking questions.”

My initial reaction to being summoned had bordered on murderous, not only because of the forced submission issue, but because travelling through the planes never failed to do a number on my hair. Though, that feeling seemed to lessen the more details I absorbed.

Those soft cheeks and charming freckles.

It had occurred to me, albeit briefly, to reach into the human’s chest and yank out his heart, but I’d since calmed down. It wouldn’t do to act hastily in such a complex situation, and it would’ve been such a waste. Yes, he’d tied my soul to his, effectively anchoring me to his realm, which was not ideal, but the pretty creature reeked of sadness anddesperation, a truly heady cocktail that could prove very pleasing to exploit.

And oh, how I wanted to.

It wasn’t quite the direction I’d imagined for my foreseeable future, but despite the inconvenience of being ripped from my manor, there could yet be some fun in this little venture. I supposed it was the ‘something different’ I’d wished for, a wrench in my otherwise dull routine, and it wasn’t as if I were engaged in anything else.

Or really hada choice.

“Are you a genie?”

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