Astaroth was stuck on one thing. “What did the witch do to my life span?” he asked, feeling a heavy swell of dread.
Sandranella grimaced. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the witch . . . made you mortal.”
* * *
Mortal.
Astaroth stared at the demoness, head spinning. “She can do that?” he asked, dumbfounded.
The word kept echoing in his head like a bell calling the dwindling hours of his life. Mortal. Mortal. Mortal.
Mortal meant slower healing of injuries. It meant wrinkles and white hair and droopy bollocks, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Calladia looked shocked. “That must be why you’re sleeping and eating so much,” she said.
Astaroth had never felt such a nauseating mix of terror and helplessness. “Can it be magically reversed?”
“I don’t know.” Calladia’s forehead furrowed. “I’ve never even heard of a spell like that.”
“I’ll find that bitch of a witch and make her reverse it,” Lilith vowed. “It’s amazing what a good vivisection can accomplish.”
Mortal, mortal, mortal.
Lucifer, what was he supposed to do? His cells were already degrading. Soon he would be afflicted with age spots and impotence, unless they could reverse it. Which meant finding the witch who had done this to him . . . or one similarly gifted in life magic.
“That warlock who advised you,” he told Calladia in a surge of desperation. “The one whose name sounds like a prescription drug.”
“Alzapraz,” Calladia said. “Mariel’s ancestor.”
“He’s immortal, right? Can he reverse this?”
Her mouth twisted. “I’ll call him and see, but he’s not a complete expert. He’s not going to die, but his body is still aging.”
Oh, fiery Lucifer. Mortal didn’t just mean droopy balls. It meant death.
Astaroth’s breaths came faster and faster. How did humans bear this sense of inevitability? How could they carelessly enjoy life, knowing it would one day be ripped from them? The forest spun around him, and he swayed.
Calladia was instantly at his elbow, helping him sit on a log. “Easy,” she said. “Deep breaths.”
“I don’t want to die,” Astaroth said in a small voice.
“Me neither, but you’re nowhere near that yet. We have time.”
“Do we?” His laugh was hysterical. “I could trip over a tree root in five minutes, hit my head, and that’s it.”
“You’re not going to trip on a tree root.” Calladia grabbed her phone out of her pocket and started dialing. “I’m calling Alzapraz.”
Lilith and Sandranella hovered nearby, blatantly listening in.
“Hello?” The wheezy voice was barely audible.
Calladia put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Alzapraz. Is now a good time?”
“Is it ever a good time?” the warlock asked. “Objectively, I don’t think time can be assigned a value.”
Lilith nodded, looking thoughtful. “That’s a good point.”
“Who’s that?” Alzapraz asked. “Are you with friends?”
“Not really,” Calladia said. “Or, kind of? It’s a long story, but basically, a few demons.”
Astaroth expected the warlock to express panic. Instead, Alzapraz mildly said, “Oh, have you added more to the party?”
“Who are you?” Lilith asked loudly.
“A gentleman never tells,” Alzapraz said. “To whom am I speaking?”
Calladia was shaking her head, but Lilith launched straight into it. “This is Lilith, first of her name.”
“The Mother of All Demons?” Alzapraz gasped.
Lilith looked pleased. “Oh, you know my AO3 username! What’s your favorite fic?”
“He doesn’t mean that,” Astaroth said distractedly. His head still hurt, full of the clanging of mortal, mortal, mortal. “He means that old religious rumor.”
“Oh.” Lilith laughed merrily. “That silly stuff again. No, I may be a massive slut, and proud of it, but I’m only the mother of one demon.” She waggled her fingers at Astaroth. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
“The point is,” Calladia said, “we’re having an issue. Do you know how to cut someone’s life short?”
There was a pause. “I mean, there are lots of methods,” Alzapraz said, “but you can probably Witchipedia murder and pick a favorite.”
“Magically, I mean.”