Selina was killed by a member of the Malleus, an organization of humans who liked to hunt demons and witches and other things that went bump in the night. Their origins went back to the infamous Salem witch trials. No, the Malleus weren’t fun people to be around if one preferred their head attached to their body, more like sanctimonious murderers who saw the world only in black-and-white terms. And red. Red was one of their favorite colors.
Eden had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “She promised to help me learn to control my magic before she died. She said we were like sisters now.”
“More like twins, actually.” Maksim moved closer to her, studying her face. Eden stayed very still, her attention on Darrak as the wizard flicked her long, dark red hair back from her shoulder and moved around her slowly as if inspecting her. “If you received your magic from the same source, your magic signatures would be identical, like sharing a fingerprint.”
Darrak frowned. “You’re saying their magic is exactly the same.”
“That is what I’m saying.”
“Does that mean I can remove the spell and the curse?” Eden asked, her voice shaky. “Just like Selina would have been able to?”
“It is possible, but not guaranteed.”
“Nothing ever is, except death and taxes,” Darrak said. “Well, taxes.”
He watched Eden to see her reaction to this. It did make a crazy kind of sense to him, and he was surprised it hadn’t yet occurred to him. Selina and Eden had received their black magic from the same spell—and that was enough to make their black magic identical.
“I don’t know.” Eden shook her head. “I’d be afraid to even attempt it. I might hurt him.”
“Magic is like a muscle,” Maksim explained. “With regular use it becomes stronger. It is only the truly destructive magic that will darken your soul. An attempt to do something like this should not tap too deeply into the black magic.”
But it wasn’t exactly white magic, either.
Darrak wasn’t convinced of a word that came out of the wizard’s mouth, but Eden seemed intrigued.
“Maybe this is the answer we’ve been looking for,” she said cautiously.
“The spell will be easier to remove and can be attempted at any time,” Maksim said. “A curse, however, is made of much denser magic. Take care when you make your attempt on it, and remember it must be made as close to dawn as possible when the bond between you both is at its weakest point.”
Eden nodded. “Thank you so much for your help.”
He took her outstretched hand and squeezed it. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You have a friend in need. One you’re concerned with. You work closely with him and you fear what will happen . . . tomorrow night.”
She gasped. “Are you talking about Andy?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
Andy had been bitten by a werewolf two weeks ago, and tomorrow night was the full moon. Maksim was right on the money. Darrak wondered where he kept his crystal ball hidden, although he did have a few ideas of where he’d like to shove it.
“I have something for you that may come in handy.” Maksim walked to a mahogany desk in the corner, opened the top drawer, and returned with a piece of parchment with faded handwriting on it. “It’s a containment spell. Any room he’s in when the time comes can be perfectly sealed and cloaked, which will prevent harm to him or to others. Such simple magic, even a human could use it if they have the correct wording. Consider it my gift to you.”
Eden took it from him and scanned the Latin words to both cast and remove the spell. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
Darrak resisted the urge to roll his eyes. A gift. Sure. Nothing came for free. He’d just have to wait to see when the bill for this consultation was going to arrive and in what form. “We’re leaving.”
“You’re welcome, too, demon.”
“I’ll reserve penning any thank-you notes until we see some results—both for Eden and for our soon-to-be furry friend.”
Maksim smiled thinly. “Of course. But really, you must ask yourself this—how could things get any worse than they already are?”
Darrak chose not to reply to that.
How could things get any worse?
That was a dangerous question if ever he’d heard one.
THREE
Ben Hanson couldn’t stop thinking about angels.
He’d met one—a real one. He was sure of it. The angel was being kept prisoner right down the hall