Page 35 of The Devil of London

“Someone has become much, much stronger,” Khaos whispered with a smile curling his lips. “Interesting twist, love. Honestly, I didn’t see that one coming.” There were many things he wouldn’t see coming, and my power increase was low on that list.

Ignoring him as he sat, I continued bringing the items I needed from my upstairs room over to the sawmill. Once everything was in place, I stepped back through and let the portal slowly close. I didn’t need it open to pull things through, but I’d wanted Khaos to see how much I’d grown on my own. I hadn’t needed him to figure out who I was magically. In the past fifty years, I had excelled and come into my powers on my own. I turned and moved toward the altar I’d brought from my shop, which was made of human bones.

I’d used human legs for, well, legs, and the workspace was comprised of skulls I’d fused together, flattened, and then strengthened. Rib cages on the sides served as racks for herbs and spell jars to protect my space, as well as me. Candles lined the edges of it, blackening the bones of those who’d trespassed against me in the last fifty years. Hands with skeletal fingers had been placed strategically around the edges to hold herbs or charms. It was a morbid construction, but considering the darker magic I’d embraced, it was needed.

Snapping my fingers caused the flames to shoot into the air. As I approached them, they lowered and began releasing plumes of dragon sage into the room. Dragon sage was more potent than other types of sage, and it also offered better protection and scent. The herbs that hung from the rib bones sparked and ignited with embers trickling like sparklers on the Fourth of July.

Blue Fountain’s “Eyes on Fire” now played through the speakers, forcing my eyes to where Khaos had taken a seat on a chesterfield couch. He only smirked roguishly, unafraid of the dark magic I’d wielded. The asshole was the king of darkness, so it stood to reason he’d be fine with it. I took in how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees, while his fingers slowly trailed over the condensation on the glass. I dropped my eyes to the large, rounded mortar and pestle to prevent eye-fucking him more. The sound of salt hitting over the floor told me the black salt was forming a barrier around the spell circle I’d be stepping into with Khaos once the spell was ready. My using dark magic had put everyone on-edge, and their apprehension tasted bitter on the back of my tongue.

“She’s dangerous,” Celeste whispered.

“Very,” Sylvia agreed in a softly uttered tone.

“Oh, ladies. My sweet Aderyn is extremely dangerous, but only if you cross her or me. If you don’t wish to be on the wrong side of her, I’d tread carefully.”

If he expected me to thank him for defending me, he would be waiting another three hundred years.

“You do not know what she does, Nasir. Her magic isn’t from Hecate. It’s from Lilith,” Sylvia argued in a high-pitched tone. I summoned more crystals from my personal stash. Each one sailed through the air with speed, violence humming in the call. One by one, I caught them until I stepped back, letting one peg Sylvia in the face, only to catch the next and begin sifting through the bottles on my altar. “You did that on purpose!”

“It wasn’t obvious that it was me?” I asked before laughing without bothering to look over at her.

I removed the top of the blue vervain and tapped my finger on the vial three times to pour out what I needed. Forcing the cap back on, I tossed it over my shoulder and felt the rift open as it returned to my collection of rare herbs. Then I added hawthorn, sage, dragon sage, yarrow, and lemongrass into the mortar. Finally, I hoisted my palm, seizing the bottle of moon water I’d had sitting out through several full moons to strengthen. Counting droplets, I turned at the sound of feet moving through the room.

Khaos’s harsh, contemplative stare was on me as he received a refill of bourbon. Doing my best to ignore the delectable sight of him stretching out in the chair with his forearms exposed. The bastard was irritably smug, and God knew the man had every reason to be so. He was the god of war, and I was merely one of his apostles.

Turning my finger, I applied magic to the pestle, making it gently crush the herbs. While that worked, I lit a blue candle and held it over the edge of the mortar, again counting drops as they fizzled and strengthened the spell within the bowl. My lips moved as I intoned the spell, but the words were so rapid and so quietly delivered, no one would pick up the chant, except Khaos, of course. Even now, I could feel his eyes on me, feel him attending to my every step and whispered word. The prick made it near impossible to keep my focus on my task.

The thinner of the candles lifted, floating over without needing to be prompted. Candles of varying hues dripped into the bowl and then returned to their respective spot on the spelled altar, as tendrils of smoke drifted into the air. The soothing scent of sage and mixed herbs was a balm over my weary soul.

Footsteps jerked my concentration from the task at hand, and I noted a man kneeling before Khaos. It wasn’t anyone I knew, which meant he’d begun trusting outsiders since I’d departed.

“Vanessa arrived at the club. She’s asking why there weren’t flowers placed in her suite or a bath ran for her?” the man asked.

“Of course she is. Have the spa readied for her. Tell them to put rose petals throughout the room for her to walk on and lay on as they pamper her. Vanessa’s favorite drink is chardonnay. Have some brought to her while she relaxes. Ensure she knows I planned it as the prelude to our evening together.”

I wavered as my grip slipped on the bowl, and my stomach surged into my throat. After grabbing the lavender, I emptied a copious amount into the mix and began annihilating it with my fingers. I replayed Khaos’s reply inside my head and felt the magic around me reacting to my discontent. Wrenching it back, I unclenched my jaw and reached for the sugar to toss in a pinch.

I slapped my palms down on the altar, rapidly lifting them to capture black obsidian and smokey quartz. After repeating that action several more times, I arranged the crystals in order of their potency before snatching the smokey quartz and smashing it in my grip, letting the fragmented pieces of it slip through my fingers and fall into the concoction. I did it with the others and then attended the bowls, which were hovering in the air, gradually merging ingredients.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing!” Sylvia snarled as she felt the connection growing lax, as I turned my face toward her. “My God, what the hellareyou?” she hissed.

I knew my eyes had turned the color of obsidian, and runes covered my face, outlining my features in the graceful calligraphy of inscriptions. On my throat, chest, and arms were delicate, feminine tinted, stripes that depicted the cracks in my soul that I’d been required to hold together with dark magic.

“Your God isn’t here. I am,” I hissed in a layered tone that seduced and taunted with the skill of a succubus. “Do you want to taste the darkness? I’ll let you touch mine if I can touch yours, Sylvia.”

“That’s some big witch energy, little bird. Your darkness is beautiful,” Merikh whispered as he stepped in front of Sylvia, intending to protect her from me.

“Thank you, Shadow. Do you want to taste me?” Lust dripped from my lips. “I’ll let you. Unless you’re afraid I’ll steal your soul?”

“Oh, pretty girl. I don’t have a fucking soul to steal.” Merikh’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and it wasn’t until the sound of glass splintering that we broke eye contact and turned, finding Khaos beside us.

“You two fucking done?”

“Not even close,” I offered as Merikh snickered. Anger was a heatwave rippling off Khaos, and I shrugged. “You asked. I told you I don’t enjoy lying. Didn’t I?” I asked in a saucy tone.

“Finish the fucking spell. I don’t have all night to waste on you.”

Sylvia laughed in a high-pitched, nasally tenor. “I hear you’re about to tie the knot?”

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