Astaroth sat up straight, sending the margarita splashing over the rim of his glass. “You can’t. We’ve got to see Isobel, and even if it only takes a few hours, there’s the drive back to consider—”
“Don’t work yourself into a tizzy,” Calladia said. “I’m not going.”
“Oh.” Astaroth sagged back into the couch. “Good.”
“She’s going to be pissed though. More pissed than she already was anyway. I guess she’s dealing with the rumor mill about me skipping town. But yeah, this will be bad.” Calladia made a face. “She’s meeting donors for her reelection campaign.”
“Reelection for what?” Astaroth asked.
Calladia was taken aback. Everyone in her life knew Cynthia Cunnington, so she’d taken her mom’s notoriety as fact. But Astaroth wasn’t from Glimmer Falls and didn’t care who was small-town famous. Even pre-amnesia, he likely wouldn’t have known a thing about her mother.
The thought was oddly comforting. Calladia’s life might have been shaped by one powerful, destructive force, like a sandstone cliff at the mercy of a raging river, but there were oodles of beings out there who didn’t give a damn about Cynthia Cunnington and her machinations. The world—the universe—was far bigger than the petty politics of Glimmer Falls.
“She’s the mayor,” Calladia said. “Two years now, and years of campaigning before that.”
If she had to pinpoint when her mother’s expectations had grown toxic, versus simply overbearing, it had been the moment Cynthia had decided to run for office. Suddenly, Calladia’s existence had become part of a political narrative—one that didn’t allow for foul-mouthed daughters who didn’t fit high society’s expectations.
“Is she any good at it?” Astaroth asked.
Calladia was startled into a laugh. No one had ever asked her that. “I mean . . . no? Not in my opinion, at least. She doesn’t think highly of nonwitches or working-class people, and she definitely takes bribes.” Calladia had been disgusted when she’d realized how quickly her mother, the so-called “pillar of the community,” had embraced being a crooked politician. “Did you know she supported bulldozing some of the forest to build a resort and spa for rich people? Like, she fully didn’t care if the forest died or the fire salamanders went extinct, so long as her bank account stayed healthy.”
Suddenly, Calladia remembered who she was talking to. Astaroth had been poisoning the woods, too—not to make way for a resort, but in an effort to force nature-loving Mariel into a soul bargain. He had been as devious as Cynthia in pursuit of his goals, with little care about who was hurt in the process.
Astaroth had also been the reason the resort was scrapped though. Mariel had eventually made a bargain, and in return, Astaroth had cured the woods and made it so no one could build on that protected land again. Even after Oz’s magical UNO Reverse play to return Mariel’s soul to her, nothing could cancel Astaroth’s magic.
He’d saved the forest, but did that matter when his intentions were rotten?
“Why are you glowering at me all of a sudden?” Astaroth asked. He blinked slowly, his long, pale lashes sweeping his cheekbones. “Makes you look very fearsome. Duck onesie aside.”
He’d made a few sly digs at her attire, but it wasn’t like he could talk, since he was wearing a fluffy bathrobe. And after discussing her mother, Calladia was no longer in the mood to be twitted. “I was thinking about when we met,” she said. “You were trying to kill the forest, too.”
“So you’ve said.” He drained his glass, then held it in his lap, turning it over. “Was I in cahoots with your mother, or did you decide it was easier to be pissed at me again, rather than her?”
Calladia set her own glass down on the floor. “I can be mad at two people at once.”
“I am well aware.” He stared into the empty glass like it held the answer to an unspoken question. “It does feel a bit like being punished for someone else’s crimes though.”
Oh, please. “I said I could be mad at both of you—”
“I’m not talking about your mother,” Astaroth interrupted. “I’m talking about whatever version of me you met in the woods. You hate him, and for all I know you’re right to, but since I can’t remember a bloody thing, it seems unfair to keep being punished for it.”
Calladia stood and retrieved both glasses, taking them to the kitchen. “Just because you can’t remember doesn’t mean you didn’t do it,” she tossed over her shoulder.