Hail to the Queen (Witch For Hire 2)

“In exchange for what?” Sebile asks.

“Imprisoning Agares in the Forgotten Place.”

She grins. “My dear, I’d do that for fun.”

“And disassembling the puzzle box and scattering its pieces where few are likely to every uncover them.”

“That’s all?” She narrows her gaze.

“Yes.”

“I agree to your terms.” She snaps her fingers. An obsidian blade appears along with an ornate silver goblet. She slices her palm. Her blood is as black as the night court she belongs to.

“I, Sebile, Queen of the Winter Court, do swear to banish Agares to the Forgotten Place and properly disassemble and scatter the puzzle box.” She hands me the knife.

I slice my palm, and we allow our blood to drip into the goblet, sealing our deal. “I, Louella Esçhete, so swear to amend our deal to the Fae. May they enjoy this word with the understanding that force will be met with force.”

Golden light surrounds us. Pop. An old-fashioned scroll and a white quill hover in mid-air.

“Let us seal the deal by blood and word after you’ve read it over of course.” It’s a physical copy of the words spoken out loud seconds ago. She holds out her hand and our palms press together, blood mingling as we sign the parchment together.

The paper glows and duplicates. One is rolled into a scroll-like fashion on the ground and the other disappears. Efficient.

“Come on, I’ll fulfill my part, and my people will be on Bourbon Street before the night is over.” She heals me with a wave of her hand.

My stomach lurches as we travel along what feels like a tube. Seconds later we arrive in the basement of the Synagogue where Baal Shem is taking another turn with the stubborn Djinn.

Father Axson and a small sea of Jewish holy men and priests form a pool of righteousness. I can feel the goodness in the air. These men have held a vigil here, lending their support and power to their elders as they try to send a demon back to hell. The men turn toward us, shocked.

“Wh-what is the meaning of th-this?” one of them sputters.

“I’ve brought reinforcements.”

Sebile parts the men like the Red Sea as she gracefully glides across the floor to the circle. A priest makes the sign of the cross. “Not a demon,” Sebile chirps.

She pauses in front of the circle. “You and I are going to take a little trip.” She blows the salt forming the circle away and grasps the Djinn so fast it’s a blur. He writhes in her grasp. The overhead lights flicker. The Djinn begins to turn to smoke and flee. She traps him, half smoke, half corporeal body. His bottom half is a twisting, spinning gray tornado, and his upper half is a decaying, grayish-green torso.

“Stay out of this, Faerie,” he hisses.

Her eyes turn into purple fire. “You dare to address me with such disrespect?” Her voice is deceptively even. Calm before a vicious storm.

“I will come for you next once the storm destroys everything in its path. And then we will take—”

He coughs, clawing at the slender hand wrapped around his throat.

“I’m going to enjoy this, demon.”

The building rocks on its foundation. The Djinn opens its mouth, and black tar spills out into the air like an oil burst. His aura is nausea-inducing. Snow falls down, obscuring them from view with a thick blizzard. I wrap my arms around my waist and wait. The unholy shrieks pierce my eardrums like swords. The snow stops abruptly. Fangs bared, Sebile stands tall, grinning. Black blood smeared around her mouth turns the beauty savage. She provides a handkerchief and wipes her mouth. “Problem solved.”

“Meyn Gat.”

The Jewish men bow as they pray and the priests make the sign of the cross.

“The box?”

“Was attached to him. I’ve freed it, and even now my people are working to deliver it to creative hiding places. My end of the bargain is done. Make sure you uphold your own.”

The threat is very real and impossible to ignore.