“Voluntarily?” it said, its form blurring at the edges. Even Piscary looked shocked. “That’s not how it works. No one has ever willingly been a familiar before. I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m your damn familiar!” I shouted, knowing that if it thought about it, it would realize it was only getting half of me. “You say yes now, or in thirty seconds either I or Piscary is going to be dead, and you will have nothing. Nothing! Do we have a deal or not?”

The vision of Kist leaned forward and I shirked away. It looked at its watch. “Voluntarily?” Its eyes were wide in wonder and avarice.

In a wash of panic, I nodded. I’d worry about it later. If I had a later.

“Done,” it said, so quickly I thought for sure I’d made a mistake. Relief filled me, then reality hit with a soul-shaking slap. God help me. I was going to be a demon’s familiar.

I jerked back as it reached for my wrist.

“We agreed,” it said, snatching my arm with a vamp quickness.

I kicked it square in the stomach. It did nothing, rocking back with the transfer of momentum but otherwise unmoved. A gasp slipped from me as it scratched a line across my demon mark. Blood flowed. I jerked back, and making shushing noises, the demon bent its head over my wrist and blew on it.

I tried to pull away, but it was stronger than me. I was sick of the blood, of everything. It let me go and I fell back, sliding down the arch of its barrier, feeling my back tingle. Immediately I looked at my wrist. There were two lines where one had once been. The new one looked as old as the first. “It didn’t hurt this time,” I said, too strung-out to be shocked.

“It wouldn’t have hurt the first time had you not tried to stitch it up. What you felt was the fiber burning away. I’m a demon, not a sadist.”

“Algaliarept!” Piscary shouted as our agreement was sealed.

“Too late,” the grinning demon said, and disappeared.

I fell backward as its barrier vanished from behind me, shrieking as Piscary lunged. Bracing myself against the floor, I brought my legs up into him, flipping him over me. I scrambled for my bag and the vial. My hand dove into my bag, and Piscary jerked me back.

“Witch,” he hissed, gripping my shoulder. “I’ll have what I want. And then you’ll die.”

“Go to hell, Piscary,” I snarled, thumbing the vial open with a soft pop and throwing it into his face.

Crying out, Piscary violently pushed away from me. From the floor, I watched him lurch away, wiping at his face with frantic motions.

Heart in my throat, I waited for him to fall, waited for him to pass out. He did neither.

My gut tightened in fear as Piscary wiped his face, bringing his fingers to his nose. “Kisten,” he said, his disgust melting into a weary disappointment. “Oh, Kisten. Not you?”