“Most draw a demon’s mark on the ground inside a sacred circle before summoning him.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know these were demon-summoning symbols. We’re a light coven; dark magic is forbidden. I thought I was going to harness power over chaos and organize my library.”
A deep chuckle reverberated in my chest, but it didn’t come from me. “You summoned a Prince of Hell for organizational reasons?”
“You don’t listen very well. I just said I didn’t know these were demon marks.” Wait. Was he listening to my actual voice, or could he read my thoughts? Maybe I was wasting my breath. “Can you hear me now? Can you read my mind?”
“You are an Ink Master. That explains your ability to draw me from my prison.”
“I’m not an Ink Master.” I waited for a response, giving him more than a beat or two to reply to my argument. When he didn’t, I figured he couldn’t actually read my mind. “My dad was the Ink Master. I’m just the apprentice.”
“Self-deprecation is rarely a quality in a witch with your level of power. You are an Ink Master. You would not have been able to summon me into your person otherwise. Or did your father summon me, using you as a vessel?”
My nose scrunched involuntarily. “Will you stop calling my body my ‘person’? It’s weird. And I am not a vessel. My dad is dead. I did this. I will fix it.”
“You are the Ink Master and a fire witch. The most powerful Veil Keeper in Salem.”
I snorted. “Hardly.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Sure.” I couldn’t stop the laugh rolling up from my belly if I tried. “You’re a funny little demon.”
“You have no concept of my size. I am a mighty warrior.” His voice increased a few decibels with each word.
“What did I tell you about inside voices? Anyway, like I said, I’m just the apprentice.”
“An apprentice operates under the supervision of a master. Is there another of that level besides your father?”
I shrugged. “Nope. It’s just me now.”
“Are there other ink witches in your coven?”
“I’m the only one.”
“Then you are the master.”
“Okay. Fine.” I threw up my hands. “You can call me the Ink Master if that will make you happy.”
“The only thing that would make me happy would be for you to remove me from your person.”
“And to do that, I need your skull, right?”
“Correct.”
“Perfect. So I’ll fetch your severed head, perform another banishing spell, and then you can be on your way. Where can I find your skull?”
His growl rumbled in my chest. “I do not know.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I shot to my feet and paced to the front of the shop. In my excitement about harnessing power over chaos and then the detriment of my possessing myself with Chaos, I never opened the store.
“I am not aware of my skull’s current location.” Chaos grunted like he was annoyed again.
“I understood what you said, doofus. I mean, why don’t you know?”
“That is not what you asked.”
“Well, it’s what I meant.” I turned the Closed sign over to Open and disengaged the lock. Since our building was on the edge of downtown, we had to keep up appearances. Our mom had converted the front quarter of the downstairs into a witchy shop—one of the bajillion already in Salem. We offered smudge sticks, candles, spell kits, and other souvenirs for the tourists and local people who practiced witchcraft but didn’t possess any real magic.
“I have been trapped in darkness across the veil since the witch who vanquished my brothers and me bound us. I have no knowledge of where she placed our skulls. Without them, we cannot resurrect.”
“No wonder you don’t like witches. I mean, the realm across the veil is nasty enough, but to be imprisoned in darkness there? Yuck.”
The bell above the door chimed, and a pair of women in black jackets and witch hats—one purple, one green—scurried in. The quickest way to stand out as a tourist in Salem was to wear a witch hat, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. Tourism made up a huge chunk of the city’s revenue, and the money we made from our little storefront paid the taxes on the building.
“Welcome to the Holland Witchery.” I plastered on my salesperson’s smile and gave a little wave.
“Hi.” Purple Hat returned the gesture, but Green had already picked up a love spell kit in one hand and a heart-mending spell in the other. An interesting decision was about to be made.
“How long have I been imprisoned that witches can walk freely amongst mortals?”
I let out a huff of laughter. “Those aren’t witches.”
Green’s head snapped toward me. “What?”
“Umm… Oh, I said ‘Those aren’t the right stitches.’ I was talking to myself. I used the wrong stitches on this corset.” Running my finger along the seam, I drew her attention toward the fabric and away from my rude comment. The last thing I needed to do was insult the customers.
