The gravel road went on and on, the car’s constant bouncing shaking me down to my bones. Towering conifers stretched toward the gray sky, the forest dotted with bare-branched deciduous trees awaiting spring, and snow-dusted grass bordered the road.

Amalia slowed, then turned onto an even narrower, bumpier track. Tree branches smacked the car’s sides as we rolled deeper into the wilderness.

The track ended abruptly. An old pickup truck with a Yukon license plate was parked in front of a log cabin with a steeply peaked roof. The blinds were drawn across the small front windows and a pile of rusting junk was stacked against a sagging shed. Once, the cabin’s log walls had been stained dark but weathered patches spotted the wood like a disease.

Amalia pulled up beside the truck and cut the engine. I pushed my door open and climbed out. The mixture of dirt and stunted grass masquerading as a lawn was frosted white, and a blast of icy wind blew snow into my face.

Tugging my sweater over my hands, I shut my door with my elbow and faced the cabin. My heart hammered, fear competing with anticipation.

Amalia joined me, and together we marched up four rotted steps to the crumbling front porch.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Silence answered Amalia’s knock. She waited a moment, then hammered the door again. Were we wrong? Was no one here? But the truck …

A thump from inside, then a clatter against the door. “Who’s there?”

Even muffled by the door, I recognize that slightly wheezy voice.

“Oh, no one important,” Amalia called sarcastically. “Just your daughter.”

Another clatter, the clack of the bolt, then the door cracked open. The first thing I saw was the muzzle of a gun. Uncle Jack flung the door open the rest of the way, his beady eyes darting past us.

“Are you alone?” he barked. “Were you followed?”

“I’m not an idiot, Dad. Would you mind not pointing that thing at us?”

He raised the large hunting rifle, the stock braced against his shoulder, and squinted at his daughter. “How did you find me?”

“Ugh.” Amalia bulldozed forward, forcing him to backpedal. “We’re coming in.”

I crossed the threshold after her, my nose wrinkling at the lingering odor of sweat, stale coffee, and damp mold that permeated the musty air. Though the blinds on the tiny front window were closed, the space was bright and open—one huge room with a kitchen, dining table, and living area, all arranged to face huge windows that filled the back wall, rising all the way to the twenty-foot vaulted ceiling.

Once, it had been a beautiful cabin, but years of poor maintenance had weathered the comforts it offered. However, no amount of neglect could dim the view beyond those windows. The mountainside dropped away, revealing a sea of snow-dusted green that swept down toward the distant city.

“You’re disgusting.” Amalia’s furious rant broke into my awed staring. “Look at you. Look at this place. Ugh. What have you been doing these last five weeks? Lying around like a fat slob?”

Uncle Jack, still holding the rifle, flinched under his daughter’s admonishment. Unshaven and greasy, he looked like the most likely source of the old sweat smell hanging in the air. A stained t-shirt hung off him, and despite Amalia’s “fat slob” remark, he seemed to have lost weight. His infernus hung around his neck, an unfamiliar emblem etched in its center. All summoners were also contractors; as I’d learned during my research, summoning a demon required a demon.

“Amalia,” he began cautiously, “I’m—”

“Your next words better be a damn good explanation for why you haven’t contacted me in weeks. I didn’t even know if you were alive!”

Another flinch, which surprised me as much as his slovenly appearance. The Uncle Jack I remembered had been domineering and superior, even with his kids.

“I didn’t contact you for your safety, Amalia,” he muttered. “I … I made a terrible mistake.”

I slid my hand into my coat pocket. Withdrawing my mother’s two letters, I unfolded the one she’d written to Uncle Jack, strode up to him, and stuck the letter under his nose.

“Does your ‘terrible mistake’ have anything to do with this?” I demanded coldly.

He took the letter, surprise crossing his features before they crumpled with unmistakable grief. “We … we should sit down.”

Amalia opened her mouth, took another look at her father’s expression, and stomped to the sofa. She unzipped her coat, threw it over the armrest, and dropped onto a cushion, legs crossed and arms folded. She glowered expectantly.

I removed my top layer and sat beside her. As we faced him, our solidarity was enforced by our matching turtlenecks, the hex-patterned fabric running from just below our chins to mid-thighs.

Leaning the gun against the armchair across from us, Uncle Jack lowered himself into the cushions. His stare was fixed on my chest, where my infernus lay atop my shirt, gleaming silver.

“You …” he whispered. “You stole the Twelfth House demon?”

“I didn’t steal it.” I rubbed my thumb across the pendant. The Vh’alyir emblem was emblazoned across it, and since Uncle Jack had seen the grimoire page, he must have recognized the symbol. “I made a contract with the demon after your Red Rum clients tried to use me as a bargaining chip.”

“A bargaining chip?”

“I’d been talking to the demon almost since the day I arrived,” I revealed baldly. “But let’s not get off track. You’re going to explain that letter. Right now.”

Uncle Jack frowned at me—taken aback by my assertiveness, maybe?—then looked down at the letter.

“Did you even care?” The furious accusation burst from me. “Or did you sit back and wait for her to die so you could have the grimoire? She begged you for help!”

“I called her the moment I finished reading this letter,” he whispered. “I thought she was wrong. How could anyone have found her? But she was asking for help and …” His shoulders bowed forward. “I thought, if we started talking again, then maybe this time I could convince her to show me the grimoire.”

My fists squeezed so tightly my fingernails cut into my palms.

“But I wanted to help too!” he added quickly. “If she was right, then we were all in danger. We talked for over an hour that night, and we agreed to meet the next evening. I was there, right at seven like we’d planned, and I waited at the restaurant all … all night, Robin. I waited …”

The same icy pain as that horrible night washed over me. “But they never arrived.”

He blinked, his eyes shining wetly. “It was almost midnight when I got the call from the police … about the accident …”

“And you finally got what you wanted.” Venom coated my voice. “You had the grimoire all to yourself. And you didn’t waste any time summoning the demon names from it, did you?”

He didn’t even deny it, merely nodded.

Amalia slumped back in the sofa, one hand pressed over her mouth. “My god, Dad.”

I unfolded the second letter and held it out. He heaved himself out of his chair and took it, already reading as he sank back down. He turned the page, glancing over the back, showing no surprise.