Shock rattled him to his bones. “You!” He pointed a damning finger at Isobel. “You’re the witch who cursed me.”
“What?” Calladia’s head whipped around. “Wait, the one who took your immortality?”
“The very one. I just remembered.” He was seething. How could she have lied to their faces?
“Well, this is awkward,” Isobel said, stifling a yawn. “It was nothing personal, you understand. Just business.”
“Give me my immortality back,” Astaroth ordered, advancing on her.
“I can’t. It’s already been applied to my own life.” Her lips curved in a mean smile. “A half-human immortal is a rare find. Thanks to you, I won’t need to harvest shorter mortal lives ever again.”
Outrage burned through him. The witch had been working with Moloch all along. She’d cursed him with mortality and stolen his eternal life, and now she’d alerted the demon to their location. “How much is he paying you?” he demanded.
“More than fifty gold doubloons,” Isobel said coolly. “Which you still owe me, by the way.”
“Did you even heal him?” Calladia asked. “Or was that a trick?”
“I do not accept money and then fail to deliver on my promises,” Isobel said. “I applied magic to heal his brain. The rest of what I told you about recovering his memories is true as well.”
Calladia was practically snarling. “How are we supposed to believe a filthy liar?”
“I didn’t lie. I omitted the truth.”
Blast, this was a trick Astaroth ought to have seen coming. His instincts were growing dull. “We need to get out of here,” he told Calladia. “Now, before Moloch sends some fireballs in and roasts us alive.”
Isobel looked startled at that. She whipped out her phone and started typing, presumably a text along the lines of NO FIREBALLS. “It’s been a tepid experience doing business with you,” she said, gesturing at the door. “There’s the exit.”
Calladia looked murderous. She wore bloodthirstiness well, but attacking Isobel would only delay them. “She’s not worth it,” he told Calladia. “We need to get out of here.”
Calladia sneered at Isobel. “I hope you choke on those gold doubloons, bitch.”
“Blame capitalism,” Isobel said. “Good luck with everything.”
Astaroth stood at the front door, ready to burst out with metaphorical guns blazing. And by metaphorical guns he meant a big stick and a pissed-off witch. He could think of worse weapons. “Come on,” he told Calladia. “Your arse-kicking skills are needed.”
Calladia nodded, then strode past Isobel. Then she pivoted and booted the witch in the chest with a side kick, sending Isobel crashing into her cauldron. Isobel shrieked as boiling tea splashed on her.
“Nice,” Astaroth said.
“I would have done worse if we had time.” Calladia joined him at the door, thread stretched taut between her fingers. “Let’s Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid this shit.”
Astaroth had a vague recollection that perhaps that story hadn’t worked out so well. “Which one are you?” he asked. “And wait, didn’t they die?”
Calladia grabbed the knob and ripped the door open. “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!” she yelled as she sprinted outside.
Astaroth followed hot on her heels . . .
Straight into a wall of fire.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Heat flared over Calladia’s skin, and her vision was obscured by a brilliant orange glow. She covered her face with a forearm and kept running, and moments later she burst through the flames.
The fire had been set in a ring around Isobel’s house—thankfully a narrow ring, because otherwise Calladia’s impulsive decision would have been significantly less badass and much crispier.
Three demons faced her, blocking the path down the slope. Moloch was instantly recognizable with his rosy cheeks and dimpled smile. Next to him stood a demoness wielding a flaming whip and a massive demon who looked like a Viking and carried a sword.
Astaroth skidded to a stop next to her. “Baphomet?” he asked incredulously.
The redheaded Viking shot a look at Moloch. “I thought the witch said he’d lost his memory.” His horns were ivory-colored and looked alarmingly sharp.
“She did,” Moloch said. “I’ll resolve that issue with Isobel later.”
“I still can’t believe Isobel ratted us out,” Calladia muttered, running a list of possible spells through her head. “What happened to witch solidarity?”