A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch （Glimmer Falls, #2(29)

Alzapraz had attacked Oz upon realizing he was a demon, suspecting him of nefarious intentions toward Mariel. It had been the same day Calladia had kicked Oz’s ass, but Oz didn’t seem to hold it against either of them. In fact, he’d said he liked that Mariel had people to protect her.

Calladia felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said. “I promise it’s not as weird as it seems.” She grimaced. “Or maybe it is as weird as it seems. It’s complicated.”

“All the good sex is,” Alzapraz said, raising his glass.

Calladia choked. “Wait, that’s not—”

“Just ask Isobel when you see her,” Alzapraz continued. “Tell her I haven’t forgotten that thing she had me do in 1286.”

“So,” Mariel said, interrupting the conversation just in time, “where are you going to go, since you won’t stay here?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve gone camping,” Calladia said, “and if there’s a life witch hiding in the woods who can help us defeat Moloch, that’s where we’ll go.”

“We?” Ben asked, fork halfway to his mouth.

Damn, the werewolf didn’t miss a thing. “It was a figurative sort of we,” Calladia said, fidgeting. “Like me, but on behalf of us. The community. At large.” She pointedly looked at her smartwatch. “I hate to run, but I want to get on the road before it gets too late.”

Mariel stood. “If you need anything, and I mean literally anything, give me a call.”

“Give any of us a call,” Themmie said. “Super squad to the rescue!”

A flurry of goodbyes followed another round of hugs, and the group trooped to the front door to wave Calladia off. She glanced nervously at her truck, but Astaroth was thankfully out of sight.

“Remember,” Mariel said, pulling Calladia into yet another hug, “you’re not alone.”

Calladia blinked against the tears that threatened. She was lucky to have such wonderful friends. “Thank you. I’ll defeat the demon and be back before you know it.”

Then life would return to normal, Calladia could rebuild, and she’d never have to see Astaroth or Moloch ever again.

ELEVEN

Astaroth crouched on the truck floorboard, keeping his head down. The position was uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to risk being seen.

After what felt like an eternity, footsteps approached. His pulse accelerated . . . then calmed when Calladia appeared at the driver’s side door.

“Took you long enough,” Astaroth groused, clambering onto the seat once he’d peeked out the window to confirm no one was watching. His knees popped, and his muscles ached from being in one position too long. A faint, delicious smell hit his nostrils, and he sniffed. Instantly, he was transported to another time and place. “You ate curry?” he asked, mouth watering. “There’s an Indian restaurant down the street from my flat. Nothing quite like it.”

“Yeah? Tell me more about your flat,” Calladia said, starting the truck.

“My flat is . . .” Astaroth trailed off, realizing he’d spoken without thinking and produced something tangible. “Wait, I remembered something!”

Her lips curved. “You sure did.”

Exhilaration rushed through him. It was as if the spiced scent of curry had roused the memory from its slumber. A scene played out vividly in his head: rain-slicked pavement, the whoosh of passing black cabs, the lights and chatter of a London night. “I have a flat in Islington,” he said, thinking of black upholstery and Art Deco interior design. “I’ve lived all over England, but London’s always been my favorite. There’s so much of humanity to experience there.”

“You like experiencing humanity?” Calladia asked as she drove out of the neighborhood. “That seems odd for a demon.”

“Mortals live such colorful lives. It’s fascinating.” Humans were bright but fleeting, like flowers that opened at dawn and perished at dusk. He outlived them all, yet they still managed to surprise him.

No one was more surprising than this particular mortal. He studied Calladia, contemplating her contradictions. Her features were delicate, but her demeanor was ferocious. She might weep, then immediately vow revenge. She hated him but had rescued him anyway, and now she was taking him with her.

“What did you learn from Ozroth?” he asked.

“Apparently you and Moloch have hated each other for pretty much forever,” Calladia said. “As for why he’s trying to kill you, Oz thinks it has something to do with a wager you lost, but he doesn’t know the specifics. Just that you placed a bet on his success in taking Mariel’s soul.”

Wagers were an essential method of conflict resolution in demonic society. What price had been named though? The uncertainty was maddening. “What else did he say? What weaknesses does Moloch have?”

“Beheading, I guess.” Calladia flicked on the turn signal. “But he’s apparently an incredible swordsman who will gut us before we get near, so we’ll need to get creative.”

The words we and us hung in the air between them like shining Christmas baubles, beautiful yet fragile. Astaroth didn’t remark on it, lest she immediately revise the sentiment into something less collaborative, but a warm spark lit in his chest.

Calladia unlocked her phone and gave it to him. “Here, read these instructions.”