Neon Blue by E Frost (best big ereader .TXT) 📕

I shrug. “And deals with demons. Binding. Banishing. That sort of thing.”

“Summoning is actually my area of specialty. But once summoned, most demons will seek to make a deal, usually a soul-trade, which is the basis for abominations such as the chain you noticed.”

I nod. “Once they’ve made the deal, do they leave?”

“No, it is critically important to maintain control when dealing with a fiend. As you have summoned them, so you must hold them until you are ready to return them to the nether planes. It is a test of will.”

I’ve already had a couple of tests of will with my particular demon. I haven’t come out on top. “So how do you send them back?”

“If they are thrice-circled, you can compel them with their true-name.” He puts his elbows on the table, steeples his hands in front of him, and looks at me over the tips of his fingers. Trying to look wise. Again, it seems like a front.

“And if they’re not?”

He raises an eyebrow. “An unbound demon is extremely dangerous.”

Tell me about it.

“Well,” he continues. “The surest way to banish a demon is to immerse it in running water.”

Great, back to that old chestnut. He and the Billigoat would hit it off. “Doesn’t that hurt the demon?” I ask.

Mr. Leroy shrugs. “Is a demon’s welfare a matter of any concern?”

Obviously not to him. “Let’s take a Buddhist approach to this and say I’d rather not hurt any living creature.”

“There’s some debate as to whether demons can be considered living things,” he parries.

They can die, ergo. I give him a tight smile. “Let’s assume for a moment they are.”

“There are no banishing techniques that are painless for the subject. Salt, the name of our Lord and his angels—”

“Salt?” I can get salt.

Mr. Leroy shrugs again. “It’s a primitive technique.”

“So, what, I circle the demon with salt?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Do you have a problem with a particular demon? I would be delighted to assist.”

Shit. I backtrack quickly. “Have you ever heard of the Hobomock?”

Timmi crosses her legs and lifts an eyebrow. Can she tell I’m dissembling? “I’m not the expert that Mr. Leroy is, my dear, but I’m not sure the Hobomock is a demon.”

I feign surprise. “Isn’t he?”

“More of an earth spirit, I’d say. Although I have no doubt that a circle of salt would exercise a fearsome amount of control over the poor creature as well. Surely the Hobomock hasn’t offended you?”

Of course not. He’s gruff and grumpy, but he’s been trapped on Minot’s Ledge for centuries so what can you expect? Damn, I’d counted on neither of them knowing the Hobomock. “Uh, no, it was more out of curiosity.”

Mr. Leroy sits back. “I’d have to see the creature in question to be sure. It can be extremely difficult to identify a demon. Particularly if the creature is trying to conceal its true nature.”

It didn’t take me long to figure out that Jou was a demon. And as amusing as it might be to hear the insults the Hobomock is likely to hurl at the diabolist, I don’t think I’m up for a field trip. “I’m sure Timmi’s right.”

Mr. Leroy gives me a fake, strained smile, and I feel slightly bad for having lied to him. “Well, if that will be all, ladies?”

I nod. Follow Timmi’s lead when she rises and give Mr. Leroy a smile no more sincere than his when he leaves.

As he walks out of the library, he lifts his hand to his mouth.

“Tsara,” Timmi says, dragging my attention back to her. “Is everything quite all right?”

I give her a smile a lot more real than any expression I exchanged with Mr. Leroy. Not a nice man. I’m glad I didn’t tell him anything. I sit down when she sits, and search for something to divert her. “Timmi, do you remember when you said that when I was ready to talk about Ro, that you’d listen?”

“I do, my dear.”

I reach out and put my hand over hers. She squeezes the tips of my fingers lightly. “I want to tell you. Not everything, not today, but could we just talk about this one thing? It’s been, um, weighing on me.”

“Of course, tell me anything you want.”

So I do. Not about the demon-summoning, or Ro’s many other sins. I tell Timmi about the last time I spoke to Ro. A week before we graduated from Bevvy. We’d been fighting for days, that kind of internecine warfare that only people who once cared about each other can manage. Sniping comments as we passed each other in the common room. Silences that hurt more than any bitter words. Finally it came to a head. Over one of her bits of junk, a dream-catcher, I think, which fell off the window as I walked by. I didn’t touch it, or even think a curse at it. But it fell and the next thing I knew, Ro had thrown down the book she was reading and was screaming at me.

So I said the things I knew would hurt her the most.

“I told her she was the worst friend I’d ever had. That I wished I’d never met her. And that I hoped I never saw her again after we graduated.”

Timmi squeezes my fingers again. “We all say things we regret in the heat of the moment.”

“I never got to take them back, Timmi. They weren’t true. She was the best friend I’d ever had. She made everything that was unbearable about Bevvy bearable. The workload and the all-nighters and practicals I couldn’t pass and the cute townie boys who never gave me a second glance . . . it didn’t matter. I had Ro to share it all with. Laugh about it. And then I told her that. Just to wound her. So she’d hurt as much as I was hurting.” I hang my head. “I think it’s the meanest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done.”

Right up to the point where I told