Cue Astaroth, Moloch’s long-standing enemy. The two had brawled, dueled, and outwitted each other for centuries, with Astaroth one of the only challengers capable of limiting Moloch’s manipulations in the high council. Oz spoke of his mentor in damning terms: scheming, conniving, manipulative, cynical, power-hungry. He’d raised Oz in a drafty stone castle, teaching him to wield a bargainer’s magic while honing him into a perfect weapon. Demons weren’t entirely emotionless—just less so compared to humans—but Astaroth had attempted to stamp out any weakness in his protégé. “He always spoke of the value of being cold,” Oz said. “With coldness comes clarity, which means you can strike even the cruelest bargains without succumbing to guilt.”
Mariel looked madder with every sentence. When Oz had finished detailing his experiences with Astaroth, she wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I hope Moloch beats him up,” she said.
Oz chuckled and kissed her back. “Velina, shocking as it may seem, I would still rather see Astaroth in power than Moloch. Astaroth has an interest in human culture and supports protections for part-demon hybrids. Moloch despises anything other than pure demonkind and has long spoken of demonic supremacy over inferior life forms.”
Calladia, Themmie, Ben, and Mariel made matching outraged sounds.
Oz raised his hands placatingly. “Not that humans are inferior. It’s just how Moloch thinks. If he ever gains total control of the high council, I worry for anyone he doesn’t deem a ‘pure’ enough demon.”
“Does Moloch have weaknesses?” Calladia asked.
“Like any demon, a good beheading would take him out,” Oz said, “but good luck getting anywhere near that point. He’s an expert swordsman, better even than Astaroth.”
Maybe they could ambush him. “Where does he usually hang out?”
“The demon plane, where he’s heavily guarded. It’s rare he’ll make an appearance on Earth.”
Not great. “So he’s immortal, basically invincible, and won’t show up unless he’s actively trying to murder me?”
Oz winced.
“Cool,” Calladia said, trying not to freak out. “Cool cool cool.”
“It isn’t fair you got sucked into this,” Mariel said, distress filling her hazel eyes. “Alzapraz, do you have any idea what she should do?”
Alzapraz stroked his beard, leaving a streak of curry behind. “An immovable object can only be equaled by an unstoppable force,” the ancient warlock said, beetle-black eyes barely visible beneath bristling white eyebrows. “When faced with a physically invincible being, you need the magical equivalent. Someone with power over life itself.”
“Like you?” Calladia suggested.
Alzapraz’s chuckle was like dry leaves skidding over autumn grass. “Not me, child. You need one who’s mastered the giving and, more importantly, the taking of life.” He nodded and produced a smartphone from his voluminous sleeve. “I know just the person. Her name is Isobel, and she’s a life witch with demon experience. She lives in the woods.” He opened the map app and showed Calladia a swath of forest to the northeast. “Somewhere in there.”
Calladia eyed the vast area. “That’s as specific as you can get? Somewhere in there?”
“Her house moves.” He held out a hand, his fingers as gnarled as the roots of an ancient oak. “Give me your phone and I’ll jot down more detailed directions.”
Calladia did, watching the warlock slowly tap at the screen. It would be nice if the old school of witches and warlocks would embrace things like street addresses and GPS coordinates, but alas, many of them treated even a simple social call as an epic quest. “You really think this Isobel can help us with Moloch?”
“Possibly,” Alzapraz said. “She’s vicious, and she’ll do anything for enough money. She’s well-rounded, too. Life curses, memory magic . . .”
“Memory magic?” Calladia asked, perking up.
“The giving and taking of memories. Restoring that which is lost.” Alzapraz winked. “A very versatile talent, Isobel. She’s older than even me.”
“Does she look just as young and spry?” Calladia asked.
Alzapraz’s laugh turned into a wracking cough. “Believe it or not,” he wheezed once he’d recovered, “she looks no older than you do. When I said she’d mastered life magic, I meant it.” He grimaced. “Wish the bitch would share some tips.”