Page 41 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

“What was he like?”

“Was?” He glanced at her before she could conceal her grimace, but she was quick to correct herself.

“Before the curse, I mean. I’m sure he changed afterward.” It wouldn’t do to imply Rosuke had died in the fifteen years since Vallen had last seen him. Vallen had already lost so much.

“He’s always been funny. Quick to make a joke. And he’s so confident.”

“What does he look like?” She made sure to use present tense this time.

“He keeps his hair long. The women of the Dark Court used to say his eyes were like the ocean. Though it’s been many years, I still remember his face. A pretty face, I suppose. Better-looking than mine.”

She was taken aback at that. Everything about Vallen made her mouth water. She thought him the handsomest man she had ever seen. Rosuke was better-looking?

“He would still make jokes after we were cursed,” Vallen continued, “but they grew in bitterness the longer a cure eluded us. Sometimes I’d see a different person when I looked at him, when he thought I wasn’t watching. He seemed…destroyed,” he said, pain in his voice.

“Why did no one cure you? Surely others knew of the counter-ritual?”

“The noblewoman had bound herself to a demon, but no one in the court had learned of this. In return for her soul, the demon gave her incredible knowledge, including a book that was lost soon after she was killed. The curse and the cure vanished with that book. My father, realizing he and his men had destroyed the only person who knew the counter-ritual, searched for the Devil’s Hand.”

“The Devil’s Hand? Is that the spell book’s name?” she asked.

“Well, no. I don’t think it has a name, but it’s my only clue for identifying it. The book’s black cover is said to have a large handprint pressed into the surface.”

“So your father never found any trace of it?” she guessed, shoulders sagging.

“No.” He looked away, bringing up one knee to lean his arm against it.

She glanced at his well-displayed cock sitting innocently in the white hair between his thighs, and her heart skipped. Forcing her gaze elsewhere, she directed her thoughts back to their discussion. Could it be possible? The witch had known about the curse and the cure, saying the details were lost to her because the spells were in a language she didn’t know.

“Vallen, the language we’re speaking, is it different from what was spoken in the Dark Court?” she asked, trying not to get her hopes up too soon.

“Yes. At the time, Common was the language of the lower classes. Its grammar and writing system is completely different from the court’s language, Mahou, which was based on the first empress, Suzu. She would speak in tongues for days at a time after communing with the Divine One. It is the language of magic.”

Shumei nearly got distracted at the idea of communing with the Divine One but managed to stay focused. “If someone who speaks and reads Common saw a written form of Mahou, would they be able to study it and learn it on their own?”

“Over several decades, maybe. Otherwise, they’d have to learn it from someone who knows Mahou, and that is few people.”

“Do demons know it?”

“Demons can speak many tongues, including Mahou. Bane supposedly knew dozens of languages, some of them long-forgotten, even to me.”

She locked eyes with him. “What if I told you the Devil’s Hand might be in Majo’s possession?”

He went stiff with surprise, but his expression was unconvinced. “I would say that’s impossible. My father spent the rest of his life searching for that book. Rosuke and I searched for it for dozens of years after Father passed.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “After a hundred leads turned up nothing, we lost hope and gave up. All we grew to care about was staying alive and keeping our souls out of Oblivion.”

“Did your long search turn up any evidence the book had been destroyed?” she asked, leaning forward to touch his arm. It flexed under her grip.

“Like I said, the book disappeared. No one knew anything about it, not even if it was destroyed. Given that, I still wouldn’t believe the book sits so close at hand,” he said, dropping his head. “Please, Shumei. I don’t want to hope. All the things taken from me that night—my magic, my humanity… None of it destroyed me, but losing hope? That nearly broke me. I can’t do it again.”

“Majo didn’t merely claim there was a cure,” she said, pressing on. “She actually described parts of the curse and its counter-ritual. She was vague because she said she couldn’t decipher everything, but she talked of a complicated, special circle and said completing it was the most difficult part of the curse.” He slowly raised his head, eyes blazing. “At the center of the circle, the man to be cursed is placed on an altar.” His nostrils flared, but he didn’t interrupt. “The witch didn’t know how it’s used in the ritual, but the main component of the spell is semen. Once that component is consumed, the focus casts the Incubus Curse with an invocation.”

Vallen let out a harsh sound, releasing the breath he had been holding. The naked shock on his face confirmed Majo had known more than anyone should have.

She had it. Majo had the Devil’s Hand.

It explained why the witch had trouble making her spells work and why she hadn’t actually done even more damage yet—she couldn’t read all of it. It also explained why she was using magic powerful enough to kill dozens of people, suck the life from another, and perform vain enhancements using potions mixed with rice wine. It explained why she always ordered such large amounts of herbs and roots. She was experimenting, perhaps selling some of her more successful results for exorbitant prices.

“Vallen, your cure is in a locked chest in the witch’s hut. You can have hope again,” she said, gripping his arm.