She tried to smile at her reflection. “You’re a very good liar, you know that?”

“I have been told that once or twice before.”

The amulet showed how damaged her soul was after having recently come into some. . powers. Dark powers. She was now officially a “black witch”—a woman who had black magic at her fingertips to use whenever she wanted.

Using this kind of magic destroyed a soul piece by piece, little by little, eating away at one’s ability to tell good from evil. The best solution — the only solution — was not to use the magic at all. Eden had used it just once and her soul was damaged from it. Just a shade darker, but it would never be completely pure again.

Eden could feel it now, only a short mental reach away — a bottomless ocean of power that itched to be used. It was like doing heroin. She’d heard that you became an immediate junkie the first time you did that drug.

Ditto black magic.

She hadn’t told Darrak about this constant urge she now had to dip into the dark well of power. He was adamant that she never use it again, no matter what — it was too dangerous for her. He felt a great deal of guilt about her current gray-stoned predicament, which was understandable. After all, it was his fault she was now officially a black witch.

Having sex with the demon had—hocus-pocus—accidentally turned her into one.

She chewed her bottom lip and tasted her red lip-gloss as the memory slid through her mind of what had happened between them.

Well. . Darrak did have solid form during the day. And that form was a mighty fine one.

What could she say? It had happened. Once.

But it could never happen again. Ever. Not unless she wanted to put more of her soul at risk. And she didn’t. She was very fond of her soul, even in its current slightly dingy state.