Sandranella pursed her lips. “True, but tradition . . .”
“Fuck tradition,” Astaroth said suddenly. “Calladia’s right. The demon plane has grown stagnant. We have a chance to change things.”
“If only you hadn’t conveniently forgotten your leverage over Moloch,” Oz said nastily. “Or is that part of your game? Fake amnesia, stir up unrest, then seize power once other people have taken care of him for you?”
“Hey!” Calladia straightened in her chair. “That’s not fair.”
“How would you know?” Oz asked. “I was mentored by him for centuries. The Astaroth I know is cold, calculating, and willing to do anything for advancement.”
Lilith beamed at Astaroth. “That’s my boy.”
Rather than looking pleased at his mother’s praise, Astaroth flinched.
“He’s not like that anymore,” Calladia said.
Oz scoffed. “He’s manipulating you, Calladia. Why can’t you see that?”
“I’m not manipulating her.” Astaroth’s fists were clenched on the table, and he’d still barely made eye contact with Oz. “And whatever I’ve done in the past doesn’t matter right now.”
“It matters to me!” Oz roared, shooting to his feet. “You trained me to suppress any soft emotions. You taught me how to torture, manipulate, and take advantage of humans. Now you claim to have suddenly changed?”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I don’t expect anyone to understand,” Oz replied. “Because this amnesia scheme is obviously bullshit.”
“Oz,” Mariel said softly, touching his arm.
He looked down at her hand. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “It isn’t right,” he told her. “He can’t come back acting like some hero.”
“I’m not a hero.” Astaroth looked solemn and sad; even his shoulders were drooping. “I don’t remember what I did to you,” he said, his eyes fixing on Oz at last, “and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if nothing else, think of this as a way to make amends. I could have come out as half human centuries ago, helped codify hybrid rights into law, but I didn’t because I was afraid to lose power. Now an entire group of people like me are in danger.” His lips twisted bitterly. “Hate me all you want. I’m still going to fight for this.”
Calladia’s chest ached for him. She squeezed his hand, wishing she could lend him strength.
Oz, Mariel, and Themmie clearly had no idea what to make of that. “He does seem a bit different,” Themmie said at last. “I mean, not that I saw much of him before Calladia punched him over a mountain.”
Mariel lightly brushed Oz’s forearm. “Sweetheart, I’m going to suggest something that you may think is a terrible idea.”
Oz looked down at her warily. “What?”
“I think the two of you should talk.”
“We are talking,” Oz said.
Mariel shook her head. “Not like this. Alone. Go hash some things out while we make plans for Themmie’s protest.”
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“That hasn’t stopped you from shouting at me so far, has it?” Astaroth asked. Calladia lightly kicked him, and Astaroth exhaled and held up his hands. “All right, all right. We can talk.”
Oz glowered at Astaroth. “I don’t like this.” He took another look at Mariel’s pleading hazel eyes, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s go outside.”
TWENTY-NINE
They emerged from NecroNomNomNoms into the sunshine. Once Astaroth’s eyes had adjusted, he couldn’t stop staring at Ozroth. It was like viewing a sculpture or a painting that reminded you of someone you’d once known, but the details were lost to time, leaving only an echo of resemblance.
Ozroth was taller and broader than Astaroth, with craggy features. His skin was tawny gold and his wavy hair was as black as his horns. A tattoo wreathed his left bicep, runes spelling out his duty as a soul bargainer.
Ozroth noticed the direction of his look. “You had this tattoo inked on me when I was a child,” he said. “Remember?”
“No.”
“I’m going to get it removed.”
“All right.” When Ozroth kept staring at him, Astaroth fumbled for something more to say. “Do you want recommendations for tattoo artists?”
“No, I don’t want recommendations.” Ozroth jammed a hand in his hair and tugged in a gesture Astaroth was startled to realize echoed one of his own tics when frustrated. “You’re supposed to threaten me for removing it,” he said. “Tell me bargaining is my duty, that I’m weak and a failure to my species for quitting. That I’ve let a mortal poison my mind, and my emotions are embarrassing.”