Page 6 of Infernal Bindings

“I’ve been apprenticing under her for years,” he says, and relief washes over me. It’s a rare day that someone knows about my blood contract and doesn’t bring it up. “Your mom is a legend. Why haven’t we met before?”

Because she’s embarrassed of me.

Because the other elders don’t like it when I visit coven spaces.

“My familiar,” I say instead, waving my wrist at him. “He sort of appears whenever he wants. That makes it hard to go to witchy spaces where he’s not allowed.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. I could always forbid Daemon from showing up, could take away his free will. But I don’t, much to my family’s chagrin.

“But you’re here tonight,” he says with a smile.

“I’m here tonight,” I agree. “Against the elders’ wishes.”

He leans over the balcony and gazes at the baptismal pool below. My lips still ache from the kiss, and every nerve ending in my body is begging me to end this conversation and drag him outside—and then I remember Daemon is in the limo waiting for me, and decide that option isn’t viable. Instead, I join him, looking into the pool as well.

“You’re twenty-one, right? Have you decided who you’re choosing?”

God, not him too. “Would you judge me if I said I haven’t put a lot of thought into it?”

He chuckles. “Not at all. I decided last minute too. I’m biased, of course, but you should go with Gabriel. Our magic is stronger than the others, and with your family’s affinity for spellcasting, you’d be on a fast track to becoming an elder yourself.”

“Is that what motivates you?” I ask. “Power?”

“Not exactly. That’s part of it, but power without purpose is meaningless. The more powerful I am, the more good I can do. Oh look—it’s starting.” Christopher points to the dais just as my mother takes her place on it, the diamonds in her white dress shimmering. As Regent Martha’s second, opening prayers typically fall to her. She chants something in the angels’ sacred language, and a glowing ball of white light appears, so bright it sears my eyes and I have to squint against it.

Using my hand as a visor, I watch as the ball whips toward the crowd, illuminating a pale man with thick and curly red hair who stands beside my two sisters. The man—the witch—touches the ball with his index finger and disappears.

A moment later, he rematerializes in front of the dais, already kneeling before our Regent. She flips open her glowing spellbook and holds it at eye level with the recruit. “State your name for the Book of Light.”

“Patrick O’Connor.”

Her lips are a thin, serious line. “And to whom do you pledge your allegiance?”

“Uriel the Wise.” There’s not a hint of doubt to his voice. No tremor. No hesitation. And I can’t help but envy him.

“Do you swear to uphold his values?” the Regent asks. “To use your gifts only for good? Do you accept that failure to do so forfeits your soul?”

The witch nods, and I swallow. That line—that one technicality—is exactly why I’m not supposed to be here. The punishment for breaking my vow is something that’s already happened to me, because of my aunt, because of Daemon. Not for the first time, I’m acutely aware that Daemon could break our bond at any time and return my soul to me. And yet he doesn’t. He wants to keep it.

The Regent reaches into her dress pocket and procures an old-fashioned fountain pen. Head bowed in deference, Patrick extends his palm to her, and she stabs the tip through. I’m too far away to see the blood beading his skin, dripping onto the marble floors, but I’m close enough to watch him take the pen and sign his name into the book, binding his promises in blood. It’s uncanny how similar this spell is to the spell demons use.

Once Patrick’s name is signed, Regent Martha helps him to his feet and guides him up the dais steps to the edge of the pool. Still fully dressed, the man climbs inside it, water soaking into his formal wear. My mother joins them both, and with an expressionless face, grabs a fistful of Patrick’s curls and dunks him into the water.

She holds him there.

I count to ten. Twenty. Thirty. My breath catches, and my fingers grip the railing so hard that my aching knuckles turn white. Beside me, Christopher places his hand over mine and tries to say something that’s probably reassuring.

I don’t hear it.

I watch air bubbles rise to the surface, then stop. I stare wide-eyed as Patrick’s body goes limp. Mom didn’t tell me about this. Neither did my sisters.

Fuck, they’re going to drown me just like him. They’re going to kill me. The tattoo on my wrist practically thrums. One word and Daemon could save me—rules be damned.

Water sloshes in the pool as my mother and Regent Martha pull a limp-bodied Patrick from it, then drag him to the floor. He isn’t breathing, and I know in my gut he’s dead. Christopher says something else, and this time the words break through.

“Uriel will revive him,” he whispers. “This is how the angels give us eternal life.”

“It’s fucking barbaric.”

He offers me a soft smile. It might even be soothing anywhere but here. “It looks worse than it is. And it’s worth it. We get to live forever, Ann.”