“Do you like Halloween?” he asked the witch.
Calladia’s forehead furrowed. “What?”
“I just remembered giving candy to children. It was nice.”
“What, to lure them into your van?” At Astaroth’s uncomprehending stare, Calladia sighed. “Yes, I like Halloween. But why would you hand out candy? And why would you think it was nice?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He was fairly certain it was standard practice around the holiday, even if he didn’t remember much else.
“Because you’re an evil, despicable monster with no heart?”
“You have a tremendously poor opinion of me,” he said. “How long have we been enemies?”
They had reached a park set in the midst of town. At its entrance was a red clock with multiple faces and so many erratically spinning hands that Astaroth had to turn away before he vomited. Calladia studied the clock. “Approximately . . . twelve hours,” she said.
Astaroth laughed. “You’ve got to be joking.” When Calladia raised her eyebrows, he realized she was, in fact, serious. “That’s a short time to have formed such a strong opinion,” he said. “What did I do to you?”
Those blond brows remained elevated, conveying disdain and disbelief. “You tried to steal my friend’s soul and murder her boyfriend.”
“Oh.” That didn’t ring any bells, but he’d always had a responsibility to his species as a soul bargainer, so it stood to reason he was still up to it. He wasn’t as sure about the murder, but as he consulted his lack of intense reaction to the news, it didn’t feel out of the realm of possibility either. “What do you mean I tried to steal her soul?”
“You failed,” she said smugly.
That made no sense. Once agreed upon, a soul bargain was inviolable. The trade—a soul for a favor accomplished through demonic magic—had to occur, or the demon would never be able to leave the witch’s side. Maybe she meant he’d encouraged her friend to make a deal, but the friend had refused?
Pain spiked at his temple, and he decided to revisit that question later. “And the murder?” he asked. “Why did I try that?”
She threw her hands up. “Why would I know? I’m just the muscle of the gang.”
He looked her up and down again—quickly this time—and concluded she was correct. She had muscular calves, strong thighs, and the general build of someone who could do real damage, despite her lean frame. A tingle of appreciation raced down his spine. Why had his past self chosen to make an enemy of her rather than seizing the opportunity to use those thighs as earmuffs?
“So you remember handing out candy at Halloween,” Calladia said, interrupting his musings, “but you don’t remember trying to murder Oz or steal Mariel’s soul?”
The names pinged around his brain, eliciting a surge of dissatisfaction. “The name Oz is vaguely familiar,” he said, trying to pinpoint more of that elusive, unsettling feeling.
“Ozroth the Ruthless,” Calladia said. “Your protégé in soul bargaining.”
His headache intensified, and Astaroth rubbed his temples. “Lucifer, this is awful.”
“Do you remember hitting your head?”
Astaroth squeezed his eyes shut, racking his brain for the earliest memory after . . . whatever had happened to him. “I remember being on the ground and looking up at that Moloch bloke while he gave a speech about ending my miserable existence. Before that it’s just darkness, except for some snippets from centuries ago.”
The gap—nay, chasm—in his existence made him feel ill. How could he know he was a demon yet not remember his enemies? How could he remember giving candy to children on Halloween but not whatever had landed him in this situation?
Demons healed quickly though, so perhaps his memory was resurrecting itself one piece at a time, like a quilt being patched together.
It was concerning he’d only encountered enemies so far. He seemed to make a lot of them, but that could be due to sample size. “Do I have friends?” he blurted.
Calladia huffed. “If you do, I don’t want to meet them.”
The past twelve hours had apparently been upsetting for her, but was the situation any less upsetting for him? “Look,” he said, feeling a surge of irritation, “I understand you have some grievance against me, but considering my lack of memory, aren’t I the victim here?”
She tossed her head back and laughed. The sound was as bright and bold as the rest of her and drew admiring stares from a nearby group of iridescent-winged pixies. Astaroth scowled at them, and their gazes darted away.