Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex: Demonized #1)(7)

Cursing my stupidity, I raced up the stairs and stumbled into the dark, empty kitchen. I gingerly prodded my throbbing, burning forehead. A tender welt was forming between my eyes, and crumbs peppered my glasses. Ow.

If not for the pain, I might’ve doubted my memory. A demon had thrown a cookie at my face? Hands down the strangest thing that had ever happened to me.

I looked at the chunk of cookie between my finger and thumb. The demon had touched it. Held it. Taken aim and thrown it. Nose wrinkling, I pitched it into the garbage and scrubbed my hands until my skin was pink and raw.





Chapter Five





With one ear tuned for sounds from the upper floor, I pried the lid off a plastic tote and shone my phone’s flashlight inside.

The storage room, like the rest of the house, was so oversized it practically echoed, with endless boxes and plastic totes neatly stacked on simple wooden shelves. So far, I’d uncovered winter clothing and skiing gear, Christmas and Halloween decorations—weird, because Halloween was only a couple of weeks away, so why not put them out?—dated décor, toys from Amalia’s and Travis’s childhood, and three boxes filled with the same old romance novels I’d found in the library.

I rummaged around in the tote, filled with barely worn women’s shoes, then returned it to the shelf. Sitting back on my heels, I swept my bangs out of my eyes.

Was I snooping around my uncle’s house? Yes, I was.

Seeing as Uncle Jack was an illegal demon summoner, morals clearly didn’t concern him. Even without that mark of character to consider, I had more than enough reasons to distrust him. I wasn’t sure what I was searching for, but there was a chance Uncle Jack had already claimed other parts of my inheritance besides my rightful money.

Jaw tight with determination, I switched off my phone’s flashlight and cracked open the storage room door. The hall was dark and empty. I slipped out and tiptoed across the cold hardwood. When I drew level with the library, I paused.

Two days had passed since my … adventure … in the library, and Uncle Jack hadn’t stormed into my room to demand how his demon had gotten hold of freshly baked projectiles. He also hadn’t offered any updates on my inheritance or heirlooms. Amalia and Travis continued to ignore my every awkward attempt to instigate conversation. Oh, and the estate lawyer had stopped responding to my emails, meaning Uncle Jack had warned him off communicating with me.

I was losing hope that I would ever get my inheritance. Uncle Jack wasn’t playing fair, but what could I do? I had no power and no advantages. I was probably wasting my time. At this rate, I would need to sue him to get anything.

Right, yeah. Hire a bargain-bin lawyer with the pennies in my bank account and take my rich uncle to court. That would go well.

I had most of my treasured keepsakes already, and money was a convenience, not a requirement. Some heirlooms, however, were more precious than a check from the insurance company, and that’s why I was here. And why I wasn’t about to give up.

I wasn’t leaving until I had my mother’s grimoire in my hands.

All grimoires—the handwritten journals of sorcerers that documented their magical experiences—were valuable, but my mother’s was even more special. Passed from mother to daughter for countless generations, it dated back centuries. The grimoire was my mother’s—and my family’s—legacy, and it was mine.

My mother had kept it in special storage to protect the aging paper from degradation. I didn’t know where it was or how to access it, and I was afraid to mention it to Uncle Jack. He might not know it existed—or that I wanted it—and if I tipped him off, the grimoire could disappear forever. He’d auction it off for extra cash or bequeath it to his own daughter instead of me.

The timer on my phone beeped. I hurried away from the library door and trotted up the stairs.

The kitchen lights were already on when I walked in. Kathy stood at the sink, a pink apron tied over her floral-patterned dress as she scrubbed dishes. Her black pumps clacked against the floor with each shift of her feet.

I stopped at the counter, confused. The cooling rack was gone. No, not gone. I spotted it in the draining rack beside the sink of soapy water.

“Aunt Kathy? Did you move my muffins?”

She smiled at me with her overly red lips. “Did you make them?”

Who else would’ve? “Yes, I—”

“Travis is allergic to peanuts. Didn’t I tell you? I threw the muffins out.”

My mouth hung open. “You threw them out? But—”

“Just because Travis has an epi-pen doesn’t mean—”

“They didn’t have peanuts!” I interrupted shrilly.

“There were nuts on top.”

“Pecans!” I exclaimed, my hands curling around the hem of my sweater and squeezing. “Those were pumpkin muffins with cream-cheese filling and cinnamon-pecan streusel topping.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “I didn’t realize. Can’t be too safe with a peanut allergy.”

“You could’ve asked me!”

Her black-lined eyes squinched. “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.”

I glared into her foundation-coated face, her pouchy cheeks quivering above her wide shoulders, then my gaze fell to the floor. I walked out of the kitchen.