Black Magic Sanction

Black Magic Sanction



Tucking my hair back, I squinted at the parchment, trying to form the strange angular letters as smoothly as I could. The ink glistened wetly, but it wasn’t red ink, it was bloodÑmy bloodÑwhich might account for the slight tremble as I copied the awkward-looking name scripted in characters that weren’t English. Beside me was a pile of rejects. If I didn’t get it perfect this time, I’d be bleeding yet again. God help me, I was doing a black curse. In a demon’s kitchen. On the weekend. How in hell had I gotten here?

Algaliarept stood poised between the slate table and the smaller hearth, his white-gloved hands behind his back. He looked like a stuffy Brit in a murder mystery, and when he shifted impatiently, my tension spiked. “That isn’t helping,” I said dryly, and his red, goat-slitted eyes widened in mocking surprise, peering at me over his smoked spectacles. He didn’t need them to for reading. From his crushed green velvet frock to his lace cuffs and proper English accent, the demon was all about show.

“It has to be exact, Rachel, or it won’t capture the aura,” he said, his attention sliding to the small green bottle on the table. “Trust me, you don’t want that floating around unbound.”

I sat up and felt my back crack. Touching the quill tip to my throbbing finger, my unease grew. I was a white witch, damn it, not black. But I wasn’t going to write off demon magic just because of a label. I’d read the recipe; I’d interpreted the invocation. Nothing died to provide the ingredients, and the only person who’d suffer would be me. I’d come away from this with a new layer of demon smut on my soul, but I’d also have protection against banshees. After one had nearly killed me last New Year’s Eve, I’d willingly entertain a little smut to be safe. Besides, this might lead to a way to save Ivy’s soul when she died her first death. For that, I’d risk a lot.

Something, though, felt wrong. Al’s squint at the aura bottle was worrisome, and his accent was too precise tonight. He was concerned and trying to hide it. It couldn’t be the curse. It was just manipulating an aura, captured energy from a soul. At least . . . that’s what he said.

Frowning, I glanced at Al’s cramped handwritten instructions. I wanted to go over them again, but his peeved expression and his soft growl convinced me it could wait until the scripting was done. My “ink” was running thin, and I dabbed more blood from my finger to finish some poor slob’s name, someone who trusted a demon . . . someone like me. Not that I really trust Al, I thought, glancing at the instructions once more.

From the book BLACK MAGIC SANTION by Kim Harrison. Copyright © 2010 Kim Harrison.