Faces turned toward him, followed by exclamations.
“Didn’t that bloke get booted off the council?”
“I thought he was dead.”
“Is he flying?”
“Moloch of the Nine plans to round up all hybrids,” Astaroth continued, flourishing the fireplace poker. “He won’t be satisfied with imprisoning them. As you see here, he’s willing to kill them.”
Another fireball punctuated the sentence, shooting toward Astaroth’s face before abruptly veering away. When he looked down, he saw Mariel standing beside Calladia, hands outstretched and a determined look on her face. The witches were on defense.
“He will not keep us down,” Astaroth said. “We will not lay down our lives or our cause here. We will take this fight straight to the steps of the high council!”
A cheer went up. At that moment, the front lines of protestors finally broke through the ranks of Moloch’s supporters.
Astaroth looked at Calladia. “You can let me down now.”
Calladia shook her head. “This is a heck of an aesthetic, Astaroth. We’re floating your badass self to council chambers.”
Well, if it was an aesthetic . . . Astaroth nodded and straightened his posture, extending his arms. “Vocal amplification?” he asked.
“On it,” Mariel said. “Almost zero percent chance of accidentally exploding you.”
Astaroth wasn’t going to think about that too closely. He was risking death already; if Mariel blew him up, at least it would be quick and dramatic, and everyone loved a martyr.
He cleared his throat, twitching when the sound echoed. Explosion avoided, thankfully. “Demons,” he called, Mariel’s spell amplifying the words as if he were shouting into a megaphone. “Join us! Fight for the rights of every demon, regardless of heritage!”
Calladia was moving him through the air above the surging crowd, keeping him apace of the protestors. Heads popped out from nearby windows, their faces turned to him.
“Moloch wants to destroy hybrids,” he continued. “After that, he will come for those with liberal leanings. He won’t stop until this is a conservative dictatorship. We can stop him today. We must stop him.”
“Yeah!” someone shouted.
They reached the main thoroughfare, where more bystanders had begun to gather, gawking at the proceedings.
“I am Astaroth of the Nine,” he declared, “and I am here to end Moloch’s tyranny.”
“Why should we believe you?” someone called out. “You’ve been on the council as long as him.”
Astaroth took a deep breath. There was no going back. “I have hidden the truth for far too long out of fear of losing my position,” he said. “I regret that. Now I declare, with pride and a commitment to fight for our rights, that I am a human-demon hybrid.”
Bystanders and protestors burst into a frenzy of shouts and cheers. He could see the gossip spreading into the distance, surging through the crowd like a tidal wave.
He looked down at Calladia, who gave him a grin and a thumbs-up. He smiled back before bellowing orders. “To the high council chambers! The fight has only begun.”
THIRTY-TWO
Even knowing her magic was keeping Astaroth in the air, Calladia was awestruck by the sight of him. As the procession made its way down the road toward a temple-like structure in the distance, Astaroth floated above it all, arms spread like a savior or a martyr. His red shirt rippled in the breeze, highlighting his lean, muscular body, and his stunning beauty was even more striking in these dim surroundings. His hair was a pale halo, the dark slash of his horns echoed the roiling smoke, and shadows lurked beneath his stark cheekbones.
“This is wild,” Mariel said. The eerie gray-black-purple atmosphere had affected her looks, too; her skin seemed luminous, while her green dress was so vibrant it nearly hurt the eye. “Oz described the plane, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me.”
Calladia agreed. The stark stone buildings and cobbled streets gave a medieval flavor to the scene, and the air smelled of smoke and spice. Flickering torches lined the road, but most startling of all was the scatter of golden orbs drifting through the air. Human souls, bringing light to this alien realm. They were different sizes and brightnesses, but each contained the emotions and magic of a person.
Mariel could have become one of those orbs. She would have been, had Oz not pulled a clever switcheroo after she’d been forced into a bargain with Astaroth.
Astaroth now reigned over the chaotic procession like Woden leading the Wild Hunt. He’d gone from villain to savior so quickly, it was hard to believe.