Chapter 20: A Reason for Everything

“Billy, can I get an assist?”

I quickly got to him right as the top portion of the books started to slide.

He directed me to put my stack on the coffee table in front of the couch.

I followed his request and sat back in my spot.

After that, Gene placed his stack on the floor between me and the armchair next to me.

Then, he plopped into that armchair, reached around, and slid a lantern onto the table.

The area was now bright and primed for investigation.

“Grab your grimoire. We need it to help validate some of my research.”

Gene paused and waited for me to get Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users. I was interested in seeing where his request led, so I retrieved it.

“Before I share my information, I want to do two things. First, let’s set up some evaluation markers:

One: Your grimoire has authority.

Two: If we find multiple accounts of the same entries in these books as your grimoire, we will consider them true.

Three: If we find multiple cross-references in these books, not your grimoire, we will accept them as possible supplemental material. Are you cool with these markers?”

“Sure. All of that was one thing!”

Gene nodded.

“So what’s the other thing?”

“Now, don’t get irritated. This next part is necessary to know. We need to determine if it’s you or someone—or something—else is the source of the magic.”

I sat quietly.

“Have you performed any other spells using the grimoire?”

Does he still doubt my casting abilities after everything he has seen?

“Billy, I don’t doubt your magical abilities. But as much as you don’t want to face it, you didn’t have this book two days ago and don’t know how you got it.”

I still sat quietly, irritated.

“The Eye and the cloaks were willing to kill you if you didn’t give back The Tome.”

“Gene, it’s mine.”

“Yeah, well, there is a high probability that someone stole the book from them and planted it on you. And that same thief could have cast the spell to summon Hellie to stop them from getting the book.”

“You’re reaching, Gene.”

“Maybe. Point being, someone else could have done it. So, let’s be sure you’re the spellcaster. Plus, you know the trope—books, cursed or not, imbue their readers with powers. That’s possible too. Aren’t you curious to know? Don’t you want to cross it off the list?”

I wanted to disagree with Gene, but he was right.

I was blinding myself intentionally, focusing on everything but the red flags. It was time I addressed them.

“Yeah. I am, and I do.”

“Awesome. Pick a simple spell to perform. As much as l would love to see one, you don’t have to summon a dragon.”

We both laughed.

After a quick search, I found a simple push spell complete with verbal commands and hand movement diagrams.

I was versed in both, using the verbal method to cast Nudged Synchronicity and my hand gestures to summon fire. But for this spell, I went with the hand ballet.

The instructions were as follows:

Fist out, with a flick of your wrist, extend your index and middle fingers, locked together, followed by touching the bottom of your thumb to the fingernail of the ring finger, using the arm to navigate the direction of the push.

It only took a few minutes to commit the flow to memory.

“Okay, I’ll give that book a little nudge off the coffee table.”

I looked over at Hellie.

I can push a book off a coffee table if I summoned a hellhound, right?

In a breath, I executed the action in one fluid movement. To my shock, the book careened off the coffee table and slammed into a stack of books, triggering a massive domino collapse.

“My bad.”

Gene gulped at the sight of magic but acted as if it had not fazed him.

“May I see the book? Let’s try non-contact.”

I handed the book over to Gene, and he walked to the farthest point in the living space.

“Do it again.”

I followed the same gesture, and a portion of the books that had fallen over slammed into the wall.

“Umm. I can help you restack those later.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gene returned to his seat.

Placing my grimoire in his lap, he scratched some notes on a pad from the table.

“Hmm. You don’t need the book to perform a spell, or at least you don’t have to physically touch it. Now, I’ll act as an alt-tester to see if the book grants me powers.”

“Do it.”

Fumbling over the pages, Gene asked, “Which one should I use, the words or the hands method?”

“Go with your gut.”

Despite my sincere support, I was tense.

If Gene could do what I could, did that mean I wasn’t special?

Maybe he could. My grimoire said that everyone is an advanced user.

Looking over the spell, Gene had the enthusiasm of a kid with a new toy. Unfortunately, despite the effort he put into it, even with my coaching, Gene couldn’t do the spell.

“For now, I think it’s safe to say…”

“That I summoned Hellie.”

“Yeah. I’m like ninety-two percent sure now.”

“What? What are the odds someone else cast something I was reading?”

“My gut says eight percent. Don’t forget that the moth was tracking you. It may have been the way those cult members found you.”

Damn, I hadn’t thought of that. But he doesn’t know that Hellie is Shellie and Nightshade. So I know. It’s one hundred percent.

“By chance, did anything strange happen before summoning Hellie?”

“Nothing besides stormy skies.”

Wait, the wind did flip the pages to the “Companion” section. But that was wind—nothing to note.

“Well, there’s no doubt to me that you’re Hellie’s master. That’s apparent from her actions. And everything I read said hellhounds don’t serve two masters.”

Handing my grimoire back to me. Gene softly said, “But allegiance shifts are possible. So we can’t rule that out.”

I took the murmuring to mean it wasn’t an important detail.

Then he picked up his notepad and mumbled a few more notes as he added to the page: “The book doesn’t grant any reader power. Most likely, only someone with magical abilities can use the grimoire.”

Meticulously scanning volumes, he selected one and placed it on the table. He then opened it to an inserted piece of paper with a list.

“I have twenty-five items that we need to research. Once I scan it into the app, I’ll email it. Sadly, this job is too big for one person. Let’s talk about the top three.”

“Let me guess; the mind-blowing stuff is at the end.”

Gene flashed a wicked smile.

“You’re a showman with magic, and I’m a showman with words. But honestly, I think each topic has its own wow factor. Okay. So, I found very little on hybrid hellhounds and even less on human hellhounds. However, I did find something interesting cited in several sources. Hybrids’ human form, like human hellhounds, can be possessed humans. But only hybrids can be reconstituted—’resurrected’ from the dead.”

I took Hellie’s hand and held it momentarily.

“Resurrection?”

Maybe she does have Shellie’s memories.

“It says, ‘The resurrected ones are those who sacrificed themselves to come back as a hellhound.’”

The craziness of the statement caused me to squeeze Hellie’s hand. Rejecting Shellie’s death could have been a self-sacrifice. My internal dialogue spilled out unabated.

“No effing way. That’s not true.”

I released Hellie’s hand and reached for the book. Gene passed it over, and I read the passage.

I know who she is. She wasn’t possessed or sacrificed. No—she died tragically young in a car accident.

“Sorry for the outburst. I just can’t imagine she is either.”

I peered somberly at Hellie. She looked back with her puppy dog eyes. Her calm was infectious, soothing the sharpness still cutting beneath the surface.

“Let’s drop this. What else do you have?”

I’m still not ready to tell Gene about Shellie.

“This next one, I got from earlier. Can you read this part from your grimoire?”

Gene wrote on his notepad, ripped the portion off, and passed it to me. Based on his paraphrase, I knew where to read, so I did.

“In exchange for the hellhound’s obedience, loyalty, and protection, the users must sustain the hellhound’s existence, acting as a siphon that empowers and feeds. If users cannot fulfill the obligation, it can mean death for the hellhound and the users.”

I stalled, knowing what was coming next.

“Keep reading.”

“For that reason, it is recommended that only users bound by a Hellpact or of Daemon lineage manifest a hellhound.”

I immediately took the defense. I knew what Gene was thinking.

“No, Gene. I didn’t make a Hellpact, and it’s ludicrous to think I come from a daemon lineage. The keyword there is ‘recommended.’”

Gene side-eyed me as he opened another book. The look on his face made it clear he’d filed that one for another time.

“That’s not what I was focusing on, but it’s good to know. The real keyword of the passage is ‘existence.’ Have you wondered why you received a hellhound as a companion?”

“Honestly, no. Man’s best friend and all. Possible subliminal brainwashing of my family’s crest.”

I smiled at Hellie, and she shared a lazy smile. I’m sure our discussion had utterly lost her.

“In all these books, it says hellhounds are only summoned to serve a primary function as a guard, an assassin, or a reaper. So that means Hellie exists to fill one of those roles. At first, I was thinking guard because she protected you against your attackers. But you said she only cut them up?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t eat them?”

“Eww, no, man. Maybe pieces she bit into, but I’m telling you… she left behind a meat garden.”

“Okay,” Gene replied nonchalantly, then continued, “According to this source, hellhounds are sustained by feasting on the targets assigned by their master. Since most of the meat was discarded, her primary purpose is not to guard you—so I’m scratching guard off the list. That makes our little Hellie either an assassin or a reaper.”

Gene inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

It took him a minute to speak.

I could tell he was conflicted by what he was about to say.

“Billy, you must send Hellie to kill or reap for food. If you don’t, you both will die. Knowing her type of hellhound is literally deathly crucial to you.”

A dark cloud and squiggly lines symbolically hovered over my face as I went stiff. I reread the passage.

Then I started nervously laughing.

“This is nuts. Yeah. I summoned Hellie. True. But I am not sending her on ‘kill’ missions. Everything in these books is not necessarily authentic.”

“That last tidbit was straight from your grimoire. First rule!”

“I get it. My grimoire has authority.”

“We all have a purpose. Hellie has a purpose.” Surprisingly, there was a soft sincerity in his voice.

“Yeah, to be my companion.”

“Facts—but she’s more. Maybe you could ask Hellie what she is. You’re her master.”

Gene sounded as if he believed what he was saying, but I was damn certain he’d lost the plot. Sure, Hellie could learn to follow commands, but knowing what she was? That was a stretch.

“This is plain silly. She can’t talk.” I laughed, but it sounded hollow—even to me.

“Then ask her in a way that she can understand.”

“I used to do this paw trick with…”

Holy hell, I almost slipped about Nightshade.

“What?” said Gene.

“Nothing. Random thought.”

I adjusted on the couch, turning to Hellie. She was oblivious, looking up at the ceiling. I touched her shoulder, and she turned to look at me.

I placed my left hand out and asked, “Hellie, if you are an assassin, hold my hand.”

Hellie did nothing but shift her eyes to the left and right. I expected no response.

“Hellie, if you are a reaper, hold my hand.”

Without hesitation, she took my hand.

Gene was ecstatic, and my stomach churned.