“He and I had worked together previously. Your father is immensely gifted, Lily; clearly, he passed his abilities on to you. But as his powers grew, his confidence gradually turned into arrogance. He began experimenting with dark forces, almost as if he were playing a game, tempting fate. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen to me, claimed I was jealous of his power. Which, to be fair, I was.”
Aidan paused and took another sip of wine. “In vino veritas, yes? Shall I continue?”
I nodded.
“Not long before you arrived in Germany, he had been working on something, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. I had my suspicions. I took note of the books he consulted, and in my free time attempted to discover what he had been looking for. It gradually became apparent that he was researching spells to summon and control not one demon, but a small group of them. A fool’s quest, as I am sure you already know.”
“Why would he do something so reckless?”
“Perhaps sheer ambition, or maybe he was simply bored. Your father was a very powerful practitioner, greatly admired for the natural ability he had spent years honing and perfecting. Maybe he was looking for a new world to conquer? He became fascinated by the grimoire called the Lesser Key of Solomon, and in particular the Ars Goetia, or the hierarchy of demons. But controlling a demon is a feat few have attempted, and even fewer have accomplished, at least over time. Most are seduced by the power, and the roles eventually shift.” Aidan paused. “Do you wish me to continue? You may not like what you hear.”
“Go on.”
“I tried to talk to him about what he was doing, but I was young and foolish and he wouldn’t listen to me. I became angry—how we mortals hate it when our idols are toppled. We argued for some time, but after one particularly nasty blood ritual, I told him that I no longer wished to continue my training with him, that I could do better on my own, without him or his magic. He burst out laughing.” Aidan shrugged. “It took a while for my ego to recover from that blow, let me tell you.”
“And then? What happened next?”
“You happened next. I had no idea you existed, much less that you had inherited your father’s powers. You showed up at the door, and the minute your father laid eyes on you, he began to doubt his path. Your presence finally woke your father up to the risk he was running in his pursuit of power. He faltered in his resolve, dangerously so, and the binding spell he had cast over the demon portal began to slip. You don’t remember any of this?”
I shook my head. I remembered the trip to Germany, I remembered taking a taxi to my father’s house, and I remembered knocking on the huge oak doors. I remembered the door swinging open. . . . But everything from that point on was a blank.
“Your father hid what he was doing from you, and tried everything to get you to leave his house—he threatened; he cajoled; he promised you things—but you refused to go. This went on for days, with the demons growing stronger as your father grew weaker and less focused.”
“Because of my presence?”
“I told you, children make you susceptible, vulnerable. I wanted to leave, but your father begged me to stay while you were there, to help protect you. One night, it was unseasonably hot, with thunderstorms moving through, one after another. At three a.m., the witching hour, while you and I were sleeping, your father called on the demons in an attempt to vanquish them once and for all. But the creatures had grown strong, and at least one escaped the circle.
“You woke me, telling me there were terrible sounds coming from the locked study—the demons were laughing and taunting, demanding your father surrender you to them. I locked you in your room. When the screams began in the study, I managed to break down the door and went to your father’s aid, hoping our combined powers would be enough to overcome the demons, to save your father, to save you. By then the other demons had escaped your father’s spell. We fought the rest of the night. It was horrific.”
“Then how did . . . how did it turn out?”
“You joined us in our fight. We were exhausted. We had been fighting for hours by that time, and just as the rays of the sun appeared in the window, the door swung open on its broken hinges, and there you stood. The demons crowed—a hard, triumphant sound. I can still hear it. They were sure they had won. I thought so, too. I felt your father’s strength ebbing away, and mine as well. But none of us, it seems, had counted on you.”
“What did I do?”
“You honestly don’t remember this part? Even after we melded our magic yesterday?”
I shook my head.
“You rushed to your father’s side, took his hand and mine, and started chanting, melding our powers. The demons began screaming, shaking the house in their fury and starting fires in the four corners. If they could kill us before we vanquished them, all three of our souls would belong to them. The demons had grown weaker but continued to fight, and as the fire spread, we were running out of time. Your father ordered me to get you out, to save you. I tried to pull you out of the room, but you were still chanting and fighting them. You were crying, refusing to leave.”
“I don’t cry.”
“You did cry.”
“Then what?”
“Your father told you he despised you, and your weakness. He told you he had already made an agreement with the demons, for strength. For power. As fire engulfed the room, I was finally able to pull you to safety. We were both burned, but I
