Page 62 of Infernal Bindings

Now, I’ll never be a part of this coven or my family. Neither will Christopher. It’s a path I chose, but one he didn’t—and for that, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

In the castle’s horseshoe driveway, I snatch the helmet off Daemon’s motorbike and contemplate my next move. Summoning Daemon back seems like the obvious choice. We only have a few hours left, and if we can’t find the killer, we should at least spend them together. But when I peer down at my wrist, all the black infernal markings have been replaced by pink ones.

No.

This can’t be happening.

I close my eyes and try to feel Daemon’s magic. But the bond is gone. He is gone. Salios broke our covenant early, and Daemon’s goodbye was truly goodbye. My eyes sting with tears as I stroke the tattoo that looks all wrong now. I’m faintly aware Christopher is standing on the gravel behind me, waiting for me to tell him my plans, but I don’t have them anymore.

I don’t have anything.

No family. No coven. No home. No covenant. I’m worse off now than I had been when I was eight years old, summoning Daemon to me in the first place. I don’t even realize I’m sobbing until Christopher places his hand on my back in a way that’s supposed to be comforting, but isn’t.

“He’s gone,” I whisper, repeating it on loop like a crazy person, because how can he be gone? I flash Christopher my disgusting wrist tattoo. “We were supposed to have until tomorrow.”

“Daemon broke the rules by coming here,” he says, “and without justification, there was bound to be punishment. He would have known this.”

Fuck Christopher. I hate that he’s talking all logically.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I ask, because I genuinely don’t know.

Clasping my shoulders, he turns me around and looks me dead in my, what I assume to be, puffy red eyes. “You’re going to come back to my place, get cleaned up, and rest. Tomorrow we’ll start working on getting that thing off you.”

“And Daemon?” My voice breaks. “What about him? I’m supposed to just abandon him to Salios?”

“There’s nothing we can do for him.” Christopher’s words are calm and resolute, and I fucking hate him for it. “Annie, my priority right now is making sure you don’t end up in Hell with him. That’s what Daemon would want from me, and that’s what I want from myself.”

I shake my head. It isn’t fair. Christopher is fighting for me, but who is fighting for Daemon?

No one. Besides his mother, Daemon is as ostracized by the Septem as I’ve been by the light witches. Our friendship over the years has all but guaranteed that, and it’s a bitter truth to swallow.

“Come to my place,” Christopher says. “You look exhausted, and neither of us will be able to do anything without rest. I’ll meet you there?”

I don’t respond, but he must take my silence as a yes because he offers to drive me there. I clutch the handlebars on Daemon’s bike so tight my knuckles turn white. “I’m not leaving this here,” I tell him. “They’d probably destroy it.”

“Are you safe to drive?” he asks.

I’m safe enough.

Nodding, I plop the helmet on and swing my leg over the bike seat. The leather feels unusually cold without Daemon behind me, but I don’t want to think about that. I can’t. Turning the key in the ignition, I rev the throttle and take off. Acrid dust plumes around me, gravel and grass giving way to the open highway as I leave Christopher, the witches, and the castle behind.

But it isn’t Christopher’s condo that I go to.

This bike doesn’t belong in a coven space; it belongs at Daemon’s home, and I belong there too. Zipping through traffic, I drive, and drive, and drive, until I reach Minerva’s suburban neighborhood. Everything in my life has changed, and yet here it looks the same. Lamplights still illuminate the sidewalks. Cars still park in the streets. There are even joggers out in yellow reflective vests, breathing heavy as they pass by me.

Failure and disappointment leach into every fiber of my being as I kill the engine and drag myself off the motorcycle, helmet in hand. Slowly, I approach Minerva’s front door, my combat boots scuffling on the sidewalk. It swings open before I even have the chance to knock.

Dressed in a silky green bathrobe, Minerva cranes her neck and glances at the empty bike, then at the helmet.

“He’s gone,” I croak, my fingers tracing the choker she gave me. “I couldn’t save him.”

I wait for her to slam the door in my face. It’s what I deserve. But her arms wrap around me instead, pulling me into a hug so tight it makes my ribs ache. For a heartbeat, my eyes widen, but then I embrace her too, breaking down for the second time tonight, only this time in her arms.

“Thank you for bringing his bike back,” she says.

“He’d be pissed if I let anything happen to it.”

Sniffling, we break apart, and she gestures me inside. “You’re inviting me in?” I meant for it to sound teasing, but it comes out desperate instead. Despite us being enemies, this is the only place I can imagine being right now.