Astaroth yanked his phone out of his pocket. “Baphomet, Moloch, Tirana,” he panted a moment later. “Working together, very murdery. We’re at . . . fuck, no idea where.”
A flurry of alarmed female voices followed, but Calladia couldn’t make out what was being said. She wanted to laugh hysterically at the futility of it all. Was this how she was going to die? Filleted by a fire whip in the middle of the woods?
Astaroth scooped up a rock and threw it at their pursuers. In response, the whip slashed at him, narrowly missing his face.
At last, the ground leveled out, and the parking lot appeared ahead. A familiar green SUV was parked next to Calladia’s truck, and it took a moment to process what she was seeing.
Ben, Mariel, Oz, and Themmie were getting out of Ben’s vehicle. Hope swelled in Calladia’s breast, followed by terror. “Demons!” she screamed as her feet hit the asphalt. “Watch out!”
A second SUV pulled up. To her shock, Kai, Avram, and three other werewolves jumped out. They were armed with a variety of makeshift weapons, from baseball bats to . . . was that a home-brewed crossbow?
Was this a bounty hunter mission again? Who were they here to hunt?
Mariel faced the forest, a determined look on her face. The curvy witch wore a long-sleeved burgundy dress and her usual hiking boots. She braced her feet, then lifted her hands and spoke a few words.
Behind Calladia, Tirana cried out. When Calladia looked over her shoulder, she saw the demoness’s whip had been yanked out of her hands by a dangling vine. Another vine wrapped around Tirana’s throat before dragging her into a bush.
Astaroth had fallen a few feet behind after throwing the rock. “Eat shit, wankers,” he shouted, scooping up another stone and flinging it at Moloch. It grazed the demon’s dun-colored horn, and Moloch grimaced. He raised his hands, and the air around them began to glow orange.
“Astaroth,” Calladia shouted, fear beating frantic wings in her chest.
Oz had been running toward Calladia, but he stopped short, staring at the scene like he’d seen a ghost. “Astaroth?” he asked.
“Fight now, ask questions later!” Themmie yelled. The pixie scooped up an armful of the rocks ringing the parking lot and launched into the air, wings blurring. She began dropping the rocks on the heads of their pursuers.
A crossbow bolt zinged toward Moloch, answering the question of who the wolves were there to hunt. It struck the demon in the shoulder right as he unleashed a fireball. It barely missed Astaroth, hitting a tree instead. The tree went up in flames as splinters shot everywhere like shrapnel. Astaroth grunted and staggered, and Calladia was horrified to see a large fragment of wood jutting from his shoulder.
She turned back without hesitation, ignoring Ben’s calls to get in the truck and get out of there. Astaroth was still moving, but his face was tight with pain.
“He did not just do that to a tree,” Mariel said. She looked pissed. As the woods thrashed and grabbed at Baphomet and Moloch, she raised her hands to the sky and chanted a spell to summon rain. Soon the fire was smoldering under a localized deluge.
Calladia wrapped her arm around Astaroth to help support his weight. “Come on.”
He groaned. “You try running with a skewer in your chest.”
“Suck it up, fragile little buttercup.”
She didn’t mean it, but the taunt worked. Astaroth made an outraged noise and staggered forward with Calladia’s support. By the time they reached Clifford, he was sweating and even paler than normal.
“Reconvene in Griffin’s Nest,” Ben told her. The werewolf was wearing his usual sweater vest, gold-rimmed glasses, and a nervous but determined expression. Next to him, Avram punched his palm, showing off a pair of brass knuckles. Side by side, the two werewolves were clearly related.
Calladia had a lot of questions, but now was not the time. She bundled Astaroth into the passenger side of her truck, then headed for the driver’s seat. As she was about to get in, the three demons finally escaped the now-hostile woods and Mariel’s magic. They squared off against the werewolves and Calladia’s friends.
For a moment no one moved. Tension stretched tight between the two groups as each weighed their next steps.
A portal shimmered to life next to Calladia’s truck. She spun, ready to throat-punch whoever came through, only to stop when Lilith emerged.
Astaroth’s mother looked furious. Bones were woven into her red braids, and she wore an iron breastplate and greaves over a black catsuit. She was holding a sword with a wickedly barbed end. “Who’s ready to bleed?” she called out. “Mama’s thirsty.”