He handed the phone back, and Calladia slid it into the pocket of her windbreaker. “Thanks, Alzapraz.”
“Don’t mention it.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “A little bird told me you might like that tip about memory magic.”
A prickle went down Calladia’s spine. She looked around, but the others were talking among themselves. “What do you mean, a little bird?” she asked just as quietly.
Alzapraz tapped the side of his bulbous nose and smiled. “A starling. Cheeky little thing, loves sunflower seeds and gossip. My bird spies are one of the secrets to my seeming omniscience, so don’t tell anyone.”
Narced on by a literal bird. “And this bird saw . . .”
“More like heard,” Alzapraz said. “That explosion drew a lot of interest, and she was perched on a bridge in the park while investigating.” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. After the debacle with Oz, I’m learning to keep my mouth shut until I have all the facts of a situation.”
Alzapraz had attacked Oz upon realizing he was a demon, suspecting him of nefarious intentions toward Mariel. It had been the same day Calladia had kicked Oz’s ass, but Oz didn’t seem to hold it against either of them. In fact, he’d said he liked that Mariel had people to protect her.
Calladia felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said. “I promise it’s not as weird as it seems.” She grimaced. “Or maybe it is as weird as it seems. It’s complicated.”
“All the good sex is,” Alzapraz said, raising his glass.
Calladia choked. “Wait, that’s not—”
“Just ask Isobel when you see her,” Alzapraz continued. “Tell her I haven’t forgotten that thing she had me do in 1286.”
“So,” Mariel said, interrupting the conversation just in time, “where are you going to go, since you won’t stay here?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve gone camping,” Calladia said, “and if there’s a life witch hiding in the woods who can help us defeat Moloch, that’s where we’ll go.”
“We?” Ben asked, fork halfway to his mouth.
Damn, the werewolf didn’t miss a thing. “It was a figurative sort of we,” Calladia said, fidgeting. “Like me, but on behalf of us. The community. At large.” She pointedly looked at her smartwatch. “I hate to run, but I want to get on the road before it gets too late.”
Mariel stood. “If you need anything, and I mean literally anything, give me a call.”
“Give any of us a call,” Themmie said. “Super squad to the rescue!”
A flurry of goodbyes followed another round of hugs, and the group trooped to the front door to wave Calladia off. She glanced nervously at her truck, but Astaroth was thankfully out of sight.
“Remember,” Mariel said, pulling Calladia into yet another hug, “you’re not alone.”
Calladia blinked against the tears that threatened. She was lucky to have such wonderful friends. “Thank you. I’ll defeat the demon and be back before you know it.”
Then life would return to normal, Calladia could rebuild, and she’d never have to see Astaroth or Moloch ever again.
ELEVEN
Astaroth crouched on the truck floorboard, keeping his head down. The position was uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to risk being seen.
After what felt like an eternity, footsteps approached. His pulse accelerated . . . then calmed when Calladia appeared at the driver’s side door.
“Took you long enough,” Astaroth groused, clambering onto the seat once he’d peeked out the window to confirm no one was watching. His knees popped, and his muscles ached from being in one position too long. A faint, delicious smell hit his nostrils, and he sniffed. Instantly, he was transported to another time and place. “You ate curry?” he asked, mouth watering. “There’s an Indian restaurant down the street from my flat. Nothing quite like it.”
“Yeah? Tell me more about your flat,” Calladia said, starting the truck.
“My flat is . . .” Astaroth trailed off, realizing he’d spoken without thinking and produced something tangible. “Wait, I remembered something!”
Her lips curved. “You sure did.”
Exhilaration rushed through him. It was as if the spiced scent of curry had roused the memory from its slumber. A scene played out vividly in his head: rain-slicked pavement, the whoosh of passing black cabs, the lights and chatter of a London night. “I have a flat in Islington,” he said, thinking of black upholstery and Art Deco interior design. “I’ve lived all over England, but London’s always been my favorite. There’s so much of humanity to experience there.”