Page 82 of To Hunt a Demon King

“Honored guests who have a habit of stumbling into trouble do,” he argued, a faint smile lighting his face. “And you can go anywhere in the palace or grounds. The staff know you’re here.” He walked over to the doors to his room and opened them, whistling softly. Akela came into the room, his ears flat and tail drooping, looking guilty. He whined at me sadly.

“I accept your apology,” I said, crouching a little to put my arms around the wolf’s neck. He licked my shoulder apologetically, leaving a big patch of drool on the shoulder of my blouse, and I patted his head. Carnon made a pained sound.

“If all it takes to earn your forgiveness is one lick, Elara, then I beg you to let me apologize properly,” he said, voice promising sinful things. I looked up at him with a scowl, and his smirk fell away. “Not in the mood to play with me I see. That’s fine. I’ll be back soon.” He strode out of the room leaving the door open, and Akela whined again, as if requesting I please forgive his master for his pig-headedness.

“Not likely, I’m afraid,” I said, sighing. I dropped my face into Akela’s warm neck and sighed. “I wish I could speak to my mother.”

Akela barked, suddenly excited. He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me to follow.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Take me on the tour.”

The palace was lovely, and I was in no mood to enjoy it. Colonnades of moonstone held no appeal, nor did gardens of flowering hedges and tinkling, moonstone fountains. Akela dragged me through the palace, a wolf on a mission, and the staff bowed or curtsied politely whenever I passed, some smiling broadly and others whispering excitedly. I wondered what Carnon had told them about me.

After wandering for a half hour I was tired and heartsick, and I just wanted to lie down and be sad.

“Let’s go back, Akela,” I said, patting the wolf’s head. “I’m not in the mood for this.” He barked, tilting his head down a hallway we hadn’t yet explored. When I tried to pull away and return to Carnon’s room, he wouldn't let me.

“Fine, one more room, and that’s it,” I said, letting the wolf drag me onward.

Akelastopped outside an unremarkable door and barked, encouraging me to push it open. I expected to find another garden or a gallery or a sitting room, but instead it was something like a storage room. The objects inside were dusty and worn, and I coughed as we kicked up dust that had settled over what appeared to be centuries.

“Why are we here?” I asked Akela. He barked again, pointing his nose ahead to a dusty mirror that was leaning against the wall. I frowned.

“It’s a nice thought,” I said, realizing that Akela thought I could speak to my mother through the mirror. “But it has to be a witch mirror. A special mirror.” Akela barked again, and I sighed, walking over to the mirror and trying to show him.

“It needs to have special runes,” I said, wiping dust from the frame and pointing. “See?” Akela barked and wagged his tail slightly, sitting determinedly in front of the mirror. I sighed, looking back at the silver frame. My eyes went wide.

There, right where I had wiped away the dust, was a witch sign. I used my sleeve, which would definitely be unpresentable after this, to wipe away more of the dust.

The Demon King had a witch mirror in his palace. I scoffed, remembering our jaunt through the market in search of a witch mirror that Carnon swore up and down would not exist. Just another lie to add to the list. I examined the edges and the backing, but it seemed to be perfectly intact. It was a floor-length mirror, so I could step through it easily enough. All I needed was to cast the spell.

I looked around, waiting to see if anyone would enter the room and stop me. I made one of the most hasty—and probably reckless—plans of my life. I would go through the mirror to the cottage and look for my mother. If she was there I would bring her here to make a plan. If she wasn’t, I would go to Vera in Ostara and beg for her aunt’s help.

Taking a deep breath, I said the incantation, making the glass turn to liquid for traveling. A bloodcurdling scream filled the air, emanating from the mirror itself and seeming to echo all around the room. I covered my ears and Akela barked, growling at the silvery surface of the mirror.

“WHERE ARE YOU, ELARA?” boomed the ancient voice of my grandmother as the high pitched screaming continued. I covered my ears with my hands and screamed as a hand burst from the silvery surface. My grandmother’s face appeared in its depths, murky beneath the glass as if trying to push through from a great distance, and the screaming siren continued to wail in alarm as I saw her mouth my name.

“The spell is cast,” I shouted. Another scream, this time my grandmother’s, rang out. From pain or frustration, I couldn’t tell, as the glass snapped back into solid form, and her hand fell to the floor. Her severed, bleeding hand. The room went utterly silent, except for the growling of the wolf behind me and the sounds of my retching as I spilled my breakfast, the dismembered hand writhing slightly as if still searching for me.

“What in the name of all the bloody gods was that?” shouted a voice, as a body came barreling through the door to the room. A blond head and white horns greeted me, as I met Lucifer’s snakelike eyes

“You,” he growled.

???

“I left you for forty minutes, and you still managed to get into trouble,” Carnon said, sighing as he took a drink from a wine glass that looked a lot like Bloodberry wine. His fork tongue flicked over the edge of the glass, sending a flood of heat to my core. What in the name of the Goddess was wrong with me?

My grandmother’s severed hand lay on Carnon’s dark wooden desk, oozing slightly as it writhed. He looked down at it with distaste.

Lucifer, who clearly didn’t like me, had marched me straight to what must be Carnon’s office after finding me. The scream had apparently been heard through the entire castle, and the sight of Lucifer marching me and the bloody hand toward Carnon’s office had not helped to quiet the panic that had spread. He had plopped me down into a chair in front of Carnon’s desk, standing like a silent sentry until Carnon had finally joined us.

“Talk,” Lucifer said, after Carnon had poured his wine and sat in the leather chair behind the desk, avoiding the sight of the hand.

“You have a witch mirror,” I said accusingly, angry but not surprised that yet another secret had been kept from me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There is no witch mirror in this castle,” Carnon replied, frowning. I scoffed, but before I could accuse Carnon of more lies, Lucifer cut in.

“There is,” he said, his deep voice reverberating off the walls. “Your wolf led her right to it. Thatthing,” he added, nodding to the hand, “came through it.”

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