Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex Demonized #1) - Annette Marie Page 0,24
mother’s grimoire back from him.
Stealing the Demonica book should’ve been easy, except Uncle Jack and Claude had developed a new obsession with the library. In the three days I’d been cloistered in my room, he and his partner had upped their visits to the summoning circle from once a day to every hour or two, day and night. Claude wasn’t even going home—he was sleeping in a guest room between library sessions.
I’d been stalking them around the house for two days. They weren’t following a schedule, so I couldn’t guarantee a free window in which to sneak down there myself. Getting The Summoner’s Handbook was important, but not getting caught was more important.
Crouched at the top of the basement stairs, I listened to the muffled echo of Uncle Jack’s and Claude’s voices coming from the library. When light flooded the hallway from the door opening, I darted into the kitchen. Sliding onto a stool, I took a huge bite of the apple I’d gotten out earlier and pretended to read the mystery novel I’d left open on the breakfast bar.
Uncle Jack’s voice preceded him out of the basement, his tone frustrated and impatient. “Its breaking point should be any day now. We just have to keep checking.”
“It should have come days ago,” Claude replied.
“Which must mean the demon is exceptionally powerful.” Uncle Jack strode into view. “We can’t miss it or our last chance will be—”
Breaking off, he glared at me suspiciously.
“Good afternoon,” I said politely, glancing up from my book.
He kept walking. Claude followed in silence, his mouth pressed in a thin line that pulled at the scar on his chin, and to my surprise, Travis trailed after them. I hadn’t realized he was down there too, but I supposed it made sense. Travis was Uncle Jack’s stepson, so why not train him alongside Amalia?
I listened to their passage through the house as I finished my apple, pondering my chances of making it downstairs and back again without getting caught. I was just thinking I should try when heels clacked down the hall.
Kathy swept into the kitchen. The way she glared in my direction before opening the oven to check on her casserole made me wonder if Uncle Jack had asked her to keep an eye on me.
I tossed out my apple core, washed my hands in the sink, grabbed my novel, and hastened out of the kitchen. As I stumped upstairs to my room, I mulled over what Uncle Jack had said. A “breaking point.” Did he think Zylas would crack soon? Based on my interactions with the demon, I doubted he’d ever give in, but maybe the summoners knew something I didn’t. Why hadn’t I read The Summoner’s Handbook from cover to cover while I’d had the chance?
My feet stopped of their own accord, and it took my distracted brain a moment to catch up. I was standing in front of Amalia’s bedroom door. I pursed my lips. She was out most mornings but returned for the afternoon. I hesitated, then knocked.
A rustle, followed by footsteps. The door cracked open. “Yes?”
I peered at the sliver of her face. “Can I ask you something?”
“About what?”
“Summoning.”
Her mouth twisted, then she stepped back. “Fine.”
She opened her door wide enough to invite me in. Every inch of wall space in her room was covered in large photographic prints of … cloth. Dizzying close-ups of woven fabric, colorful silk rippling in the wind, patterns and textures, stitching designs, color combinations, even zippers.
She’d shoved her queen-sized bed with a patchwork quilt into one corner, and two very different work areas dominated the rest of the room. Back by the closet door, a flimsy desk buckled under the weight of leather-bound textbooks with Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit on the spines. In the other corner, a long utilitarian table was positioned under the window. On it, two sewing machines sat beside tumbled heaps of fabric and a rack of colorful thread spools. A dress form stood nearby, pins sticking out of the headless female figure.
“You sew?” I asked, surprised.
Her mouth thinned. “Problem with that?”
“No.” I blinked, unsure how I’d offended her. “I think it’s awesome. Do you make clothes?”
“Yeah.” She dropped into the chair in front of the sewing machine and picked up a swatch of fabric. “I’m designing hex clothing.”
I stepped closer to see the fabric. Sewn into the floral pattern was a discreet cantrip. I recognized it—impello, the push spell.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “So this would be, like, a self-defense shirt?”