In response, Calladia held up her hand. The sky had darkened from purple-gray to purple-black, and golden light shone from her fingers, brighter now that they were heading into the demon plane’s version of night.
Astaroth seized her hand and held it to his lips for a kiss. “Goddess, you have no idea the weapon you just gave me.”
“My hand?”
He shook his head. “Even better. An idea. No, an ideal. Moloch’s influence relies on fear and oppression. This?” He held her hand to his chest. “This is hope.”
They’d reached the steps leading up to a colossal black structure. It was constructed like a Maya step pyramid, and a platform at the top of the first flight of stairs held large stone doors covered in intricate carvings. The doors swung open slowly, revealing nine demons silhouetted by a fiery red background.
“Time for me to head down,” Calladia said. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
Astaroth’s posture shifted. He seemed taller, more rigid, and his expression was hard as iron. His bearing screamed of power and influence, and Calladia felt a twinge of unease. This wasn’t Calladia’s Astaroth—it was the demon the council had known for centuries.
He was playing a part, she told herself. Committing to the aesthetic.
She expected him to bid her a formal farewell, rather than expose his feelings for her, but as she started to sink back down, he looped an arm around her waist and hauled her in for a fierce kiss.
“Fight well, my warrior queen,” he said when he let her go.
She smiled, heart thumping with a mix of adoration, exhilaration, and fear. “Fight well, my warrior king.”
Then she dropped to the ground, readying herself for the confrontation to come.
* * *
The nine demons spread out on the platform. Moloch and Baphomet were in the center, and Calladia recognized Tirana to Moloch’s right. Had Astaroth’s position already been claimed by the demoness?
“How dare you return, Astaroth?” Baphomet asked. “You were banished.”
The head of the council could certainly project. Calladia wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had a microphone hidden beneath those layers of fur and leather.
“Yeah, banishment wasn’t really my thing,” Astaroth said.
Calladia jumped. Mariel had resumed her amplification spell.
“That’s not how banishment works,” Moloch said. He’d adopted a more archaic form of dress: his brown leather pants were topped with a blue shirt and leather jerkin, and he wore knee-high boots with daggers tucked into them. Leather bands covered his forearms, a blue cape linked with a silver chain draped from his shoulders, and a sword was sheathed at his hip.
Calladia scanned the other high council members. Sandranella was there, looking unflappable in a deep purple gown covered with silver filigree. She hadn’t decided to abandon their cause, had she?
The white-haired demoness met Calladia’s eyes and winked.
An ally on the inside. It was a smart call; if she had marched, it might have diminished her credibility as a council member. This way she could argue on Astaroth’s behalf from a position of authority.
That didn’t explain where Lilith was, but from what little Calladia had learned about her, the demoness, like her son, would time her entrance for when it would have the greatest impact.
“I learned some alarming things while on Earth,” Astaroth said. “My concern was so great, I chose to return for the sake of our people.”
“You are no longer a council member,” Moloch said. “You have no influence.”
“Is Tirana a council member?” Astaroth gestured to the demoness with the dirty-blond hair and coiled whip.
Moloch’s eyelids flickered. “We were just meeting to discuss that matter.”
“So that’s a no.” Astaroth turned until he was half facing the assembled crowd. “For those who are just joining us, we gathered for a peaceful protest on behalf of demon hybrids and were viciously attacked by Moloch’s minions.”
“Lies,” Moloch said. “You caused the conflict yourself to undermine me and regain your council seat.”
Astaroth kept speaking. “We were protesting because Moloch, Baphomet, and Tirana, as well as potentially other council members, support the destruction of hybrids. They want to close all entrances to the plane and usher in a totalitarian rule based on violent, outdated ideals.”
Murmurs sounded from the restless crowd. Someone threw a rock at the dais.
“Be silent,” Baphomet ordered.