A summoning circle. A second one. Unlike the library’s circle, this one held no darkness … but it wasn’t empty.

A demon crouched inside it. Four long horns rose off its head, a pair protruding from each temple and curving upward. Enormous wings were folded against its broad back, and a thick tail lay on the concrete behind it, ending in a mace-like scale plate. Heavily muscled shoulders supported its large head and those huge horns.

Even crouched, it was massive. Standing, it would be seven feet tall and built like a linebacker. Dark, reddish-brown skin stretched across bulging muscle.

Deep-set eyes fixed on me. They glowed like lava, but instead of heat, they radiated primal hatred and zealous bloodlust. Its need to kill, to rip and tear and spill my blood across the floor, hung in the air like a poisonous miasma.

I didn’t realize I’d moved until my heel caught on something. I fell back into the stairs, slamming my elbows into the concrete.

Amalia swung the door shut, concealing the circle and beast behind it. She stood over me, a dark shadow under the weak light of the bare bulb overhead.

“You weren’t lying,” she murmured. “You’ve never seen a demon before.”

I sat up. My limbs were shaking, my teeth chattering. My stomach twisted, threatening to jump out of my body, and air whistled through my teeth. Fear more intense than I’d ever felt before coursed inside me.

The definition of evil is an apt description of the demonic psyche. Now I understood. I no longer doubted those words in the slightest. The winged beast in that circle wanted to kill me—me and every other human it could lay its hands on. If not for the invisible barrier holding it in that circle, it would’ve already murdered us.

“If you aren’t a summoner, why are you here?” Amalia asked.

“M-m-my p-parents’ will,” I chattered as I wrapped my arms around myself to stop their shaking. “Uncle Jack is the executor.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I h-haven’t gotten my inheritance yet.” I peered up into her shadowed face. “It’s been six months, but Uncle Jack keeps making excuses. Then he sold my house and kept the money, so I came here to … to try to …” I trailed off hopelessly.

“Aw shit,” she muttered. She held out her hand.

I stared, shocked, then reached up. She pulled me to my feet and ascended the stairs.

“You really aren’t training as a summoner?” she asked over her shoulder. “But your parents were summoners. Why didn’t they teach you?”

“My parents aren’t—weren’t—” Pain slashed me as I corrected my error in verb tense. “They weren’t summoners.”

“I thought they were. Dad used to complain about how your mom sabotaged his career and forced him to start summoning from scratch.”

We exited the greenhouse, but the golden sunlight did little to warm the shivery cold inside me.

“My parents never mentioned demon summoning,” I said quietly. “Not once. I didn’t know Uncle Jack was a summoner until I got here.”

Facing me, Amalia brushed her hair off one shoulder. “Summoning is the family business. We’ve been summoners for generations.”

“But that … that can’t be. My parents would have …”

Stay away from magic and it’ll stay away from you. That was the lesson my parents had taught me. Pursue a career in the human world, not the mythic one. Study mythic history if you want, but don’t get involved in magic. And ignore the mysterious, ancient grimoire your mother diligently protects.

What had my parents been hiding from me?

I sat on the kitchen stool Amalia had vacated, my elbows propped on the counter and chin on my palms. A plate sat in front of me, and on it was a perfect slice of fluffy white cake, frosted with whipped cream and topped with artfully arranged strawberry slices, a sprinkle of plump blueberries, and a drizzle of dark chocolate ganache.

Angel food cake. The most perfectly ironic bribe for a demon.

A memory, laced with terror, rose in my mind: the winged, horned monster with dark reddish skin crouched in the underground circle, radiating its desire to kill. I imagined the husky laugh of the library demon coming from its thin lips.

I’d talked to a monster like that winged creature. I’d given it cookies. I’d told it I loved baking with my family.

Picking up the fork beside my elbow, I poised it over the whipped-cream-and-ganache topping. I should eat this beautiful piece of cake. Scarf it right down, then head up to my room and plot my next move in the battle against Uncle Jack. I had nothing to gain from interacting with the demon.

But I was going to the library anyway, because reading The Summoner’s Handbook was no longer a passing curiosity. With one conversation, Amalia had rocked the foundation of my world.

Summoning is the family business.

The fork wobbled and I set it down. Chewing my lip fretfully, I opened the breadbox and loaded a napkin with the cookies I’d baked early this morning, then picked up the plate of angel food cake. Lost in new worries that had joined the ever-present ache of my parents’ loss, I headed into the basement.

The library lights were dimmed, the obsidian dome almost invisible. I nudged the slider up with my elbow and a soft glow pushed the shadows away. Cautiously, I approached the circle and knelt on the floor, then skooched close enough to slide the napkin of cookies over the silver inlay.

“That’s for answering my question last time,” I said.

Quiet was the only response, then …

“Keeping your word, payilas,” the demon whispered, its voice only feet away.

I couldn’t look at the darkness. Was there a monster concealed inside it—a seven-or eight-foot beast with giant horns, wings, and a tail made for crushing enemies? The crimson eyes I’d glimpsed—did they too burn with murderous hatred and insatiable bloodlust? Uncle Jack and Claude thought this demon could be the most powerful of all; maybe it was even more terrifying, if that was even possible.

And yet … no matter what version of that winged demon I imagined, it didn’t match the soft, husky voice that slid from the darkness of this circle.

I peered down at the plate. A strawberry was slowly slipping off the cake. “I made this for you. In exchange for your name. But … but I want to ask for something else instead.”

The demon waited. A patient hunter.

“I want to … would you … can I see what you look like?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I deflated, but I wasn’t sure if it was from relief or disappointment. “Okay.”

I set the plate down and slid the cake, resting on a napkin, onto the floor. Wary as always of getting too close to the protective barrier, I prodded a corner of the napkin into the darkness. It was probably better I didn’t see the demon. Did I really want to add more fuel to my nightmares?

Sitting back on my heels, I squinted toward the coffee table where the Demonica book waited. Demon summoning. My family’s legacy. An ancient grimoire. Secrets. So many secrets. Had my parents been summoners like Uncle Jack or had they eschewed magic as they’d taught me to do? What had they been hiding from me? Could Amalia be wrong?

If demon summoning did run in the family, and the ancient grimoire had been passed from summoner to summoner for generations, Uncle Jack would never, ever let me have it. I had to get it first.

“Payilas.”

I glanced at the dark dome. Both napkins sat untouched on the silver inlay.

“What do you want?” the demon asked.

The grimoire. The truth. My parents alive again. “I want to see your face.”

“Ch. Stubborn payilas.”

I assumed that was a refusal. I was already turning away when the darkness inside the circle swirled—then disappeared.

He sat at the edge of the circle, with one arm propped behind him, a knee raised, and his forearm resting on it. At my shocked gasp, he canted his head, the motion cocky and challenging, and his crimson eyes locked on mine. A faint magma glow emanated from his stare.

He was definitely a demon, but he was so different from the one under the greenhouse that they could’ve been different species. He had no wings, for starters. In fact, he looked … he looked …

He looked almost human.

His smooth skin was the color of toffee with a reddish undertone. Black hair, short in the back but longer in the front, was rumpled above his dark eyebrows and wild as though a brush had never touched it. The sharp line of his jaw smoothed to softer cheekbones, and his ears had pointed tips. Like the other demon, four dark horns poked out of his hair, two rising above each temple, but they were minuscule—only a couple of inches long.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I realized I was leaning forward where I sat, straining to get a closer look without actually moving.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

Those husky, swirling tones. Seeing his mouth move and hearing the sounds falling from his lips … how could I have imagined that winged monster speaking in his voice?