She straightened, regal as an empress. “Lead the way.”
* * *
The elevator was uncomfortably slow. The winch mechanism ran on magic, so there was nothing to do but stand and wait during the descent.
Despite the November chill and his lack of a coat, Astaroth was sweating. It was one thing to talk on the phone with the mother he barely remembered. Meeting her was another thing entirely. It would be nearly impossible to hide his amnesiac condition, and he had no idea how she would take it. Probably not well, considering all her talk of power and vengeance and drinking blood out of the skulls of her enemies.
Calladia laid her hand over his. “Hey,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
Her consideration took him aback. Not just because he thought he’d been doing an admirable job of hiding his trepidation, but because she sounded downright sweet. He liked all her iterations up to and including “vengeful harpy,” but this gentle consideration . . .
Well. It rearranged something inside him.
“A bit nervous, to be honest,” he said.
“Same. I wish we knew what she wanted.”
The werewolves hadn’t been much help, especially since Tansy had promptly picked the two up with their talons and flown them away, squawking about poor customer service and Tansy’s good reputation. Or at least that’s what Astaroth assumed the griffin had been upset about.
“Maybe she just wants to talk in person,” Astaroth said.
Calladia looked skeptical. “So she hired bounty hunters rather than calling you and setting up a time to meet?”
He grimaced. “Good point.”
“If she causes trouble, I’ll take care of it.” Calladia held up the yarn she’d already tied a few knots in.
Her confidence was marvelous. Calladia hadn’t even survived three decades on Earth, and she was ready and willing to challenge one of the oldest demons in existence.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Astaroth said.
The elevator finally hit the ground. Calladia slid the door open and tried to walk out first, but Astaroth stepped in front of her. If they were heading into danger, he wanted to face it first.
Two black-horned demonesses stood at the base of the tree. One was tall, with deep brown skin and a shock of white curls, and he instantly recognized her from his memory of drunkenly watching a science documentary. The other was shorter, with pale skin and waist-length red hair dotted with braids.
A wave of emotion nearly knocked the breath from him. He knew them.
“There you are, Astaroth!” Lilith said, striding toward him. She wore buckskin trousers, tall boots, and a ruffled white blouse with a red sash. A dagger was sheathed at her waist. For a moment he wondered if she was going to stab him, but she stopped within arms’ reach, looked him up and down, then made a tsking sound. “What are you wearing? This isn’t on brand at all.”
He looked down at his black faux-leather trousers and rumpled blue shirt. “It looks better when it’s clean,” he said, for lack of anything else. Whatever reception he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been so mundane.
Then again, Lilith didn’t know he was an amnesiac. Maybe only a week or two had passed since she’d seen him last, and this wasn’t as momentous an occasion for her as it was for him.
Lilith’s eyes were the same pale blue shade as his own. They traveled from his horns to his shoes, and she gasped and clapped her hands when she spotted the fireplace poker he was carrying. “I’m not familiar with that weapon,” she said, bending down to peer at it. “What is it? Something for disemboweling? The hook doesn’t seem sharp enough, but sometimes a blunt tool is more fun, right?” Her smile was bright as she straightened. “Makes the suffering last longer.”
“Ah.” Astaroth awkwardly lifted the implement. “It’s a fireplace poker. For tending the fire.”
“Ooh, do you brand people with it?”
“Not recently,” Astaroth said.
The other demoness approached with an elegant, gliding walk. She wore a wine-red gown with a golden breastplate, and rings adorned her fingers. “Astaroth,” she said in a rich alto voice. “Glad to see Moloch didn’t put you out of commission for good.”
“Quite.” Astaroth gave her a tight-lipped smile, wishing he could remember her name and what the nature of their relationship was.
Calladia stepped forward with her hand out. “I’m Calladia,” she announced, and Astaroth felt a surge of gratitude. Clever Calladia had taken the initiative to gain the information he lacked.