A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch （Glimmer Falls, #2(18)

Calladia stiffened. “Excuse me for wasting your precious time,” she spat. “It’s not like my house just got blown up.”

“You can shout at me to your heart’s content,” Astaroth said. “Later. In a location farther away from the demon who just tried to murder us.”

Calladia opened her mouth, then closed it again. He had a point. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “There’s a bridge in the park we can hide under until he’s gone, and then I’ll get my truck. Assuming I still have a truck.”

Her truck—a battered red pickup she’d named Clifford the Little Red Truck—had been parked on the street, since she hadn’t wanted to disrupt a chalk drawing the neighbor children had made in her driveway. Maybe that distance had been enough to spare it.

Calladia led Astaroth toward the stream that cut through the park. Sirens wailed in the distance, and the people they passed were so fixated on the fire, they thankfully didn’t pay attention to two soot-covered strangers limping by.

The bridge was a low wooden arch over the stream, just tall enough to sit beneath. Calladia sat on the bank, wrapping her arms around her knees, and Astaroth took up position opposite. Thankfully, he stayed quiet, giving Calladia space to think.

What was she going to do? She was now without a house or most of her everyday possessions. Things could be replaced, and the furnishings had been relatively cheap, but that didn’t help the ache of loss in her chest.

Be practical, she told herself. Focus on logistics.

Calladia wasn’t without resources. Her friends had accused her of being a “paranoid prepper” due to the emergency supplies stashed in her truck. She’d stocked up on gear in case a camping trip went wrong, and assuming Clifford had survived the blast, there should be enough in there to last at least a week: a go-bag, camping gear, blankets, emergency rations, spare clothes, and more.

How did the demon figure into her plans though?

Across the stream, Astaroth looked miserable. His knees were drawn up in a mirror of her position, and he was shivering. Probably cold, since demons had higher body temperatures than humans.

She should leave him behind. Let him sort through his own mess and fight his own enemy.

He shivered again, then touched his face gingerly, exploring the bruised skin around his eye. Soot darkened his blond hair, and a gnarly, scabbed-over gash was visible on the left side of his head. The amnesia-causing wound, presumably.

Astaroth may have been the reason she’d nearly died, but he’d also saved her life. Calladia hadn’t known what the fire in Moloch’s hands meant. If she’d stayed in her living room a few seconds longer, she wouldn’t be here right now.

Even if she abandoned Astaroth, would that be enough to keep her safe? Or would Moloch see her as Astaroth’s ally and try to kill her anyway?

Calladia frowned, remembering something Astaroth had shouted during the confrontation. I’m going to take you down, Moloch. I have everything I need.

“What did you mean about taking Moloch down?” Calladia asked. “You said you have everything you need.”

Astaroth looked up at her. “Did I?” he asked, sounding distracted. His eyes were reddened from the smoke.

“You did,” she confirmed. “Did you remember something about him?”

Astaroth’s brow furrowed. Calladia waited, letting him sift through his memories.

“I don’t know what I meant by that,” Astaroth finally said. “I just looked at him and knew with utter certainty that I could hurt him.”

“So how do we do it?” she asked. “How do we take Moloch out?”

Astaroth looked surprised. “We?”

Calladia winced. Damn her altruistic impulses. She was way too deep into this mess to back out. “Well, now I’m on his radar, too. And since I don’t want to die . . .”

“We’ve got to collaborate.”

Astaroth sounded so unenthused that Calladia bristled. “You don’t have to sound so disappointed. At least this way there will be one functional brain between the two of us.”

Astaroth made an annoyed sound. He started to respond, then winced and rubbed his forehead. “Lucifer, this headache. Zero stars for amnesia.”

“There are painkillers in my truck,” Calladia said. “If it survived.”

“It’s fine. Demons heal quickly.”

Calladia wasn’t so sure. He was still sporting a shiner, and from what she knew from other hyper-regenerative species, that should have disappeared by now. Then again, as Mariel had learned with Oz, demons were very different from how they were portrayed in most literature. Maybe fast healing was conditional, or maybe the knock on the head had disrupted his abilities.

Well, if he didn’t want painkillers, that was his issue. Calladia rested her chin on her knees and planned her next steps.

First: check on Clifford the Little Red Truck. If Clifford was intact, they could drive somewhere and get help. Mariel and Themmie would gladly help with anything she needed, but she didn’t want to admit she’d helped Astaroth, so she’d need to come up with a version of the truth that wouldn’t make them ask too many questions.

Her friends would undoubtedly offer her a place to stay, but Astaroth wasn’t the only reason to avoid that. If Moloch was targeting Calladia, she’d be damned before she put her friends at risk. But if Clifford had survived, so had her tent and emergency supplies, which meant she could camp out in the woods while figuring out next steps.