She turned into an alleyway. A man with curly brown hair stood over a body on the ground, a knife in his hand. He kicked the body, eliciting a groan of pain. “I thought I’d kill you right away,” he said in an accent eerily similar to Oz’s, “but I like the idea of carving up that pretty face. Let you live with it for a while.”
“Who are you?” the man on the ground repeated. He was curled up with his arms over his head, so Calladia couldn’t see much of him, but there were bloodstains on his light-colored coat.
The other man tipped his head back and laughed, and Calladia stiffened as moonlight glanced off light brown horns. Another demon!
“What is this, an infestation?” she muttered as she strode forward. She’d lived her entire life in Glimmer Falls without seeing a demon, and now this was the third in a single month. She pulled a hank of thread from her pocket. Magic needed to be grounded in words and action, and while some witches preferred chalking runes or performing elaborate ritual dances, Calladia liked the intricacy and portability of thread for casting. “Get away from him,” she said loudly.
The demon’s head whipped around. He was weirdly sweet-looking, with brown hair, blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks. He looked her up and down, then returned his attention to his victim. “Shall I cut your nose off first?” the demon asked the man. “Maybe an ear?”
Calladia didn’t like being ignored. She wound the thread around her fingers and began tying the elaborate knots that would ground her spell in physical action. “Defienez el daemon,” she said, tying the final knot.
The demon flew backward, hitting the brick wall. Calladia’s spell kept him pinned there like an insect. She sauntered up to him, smirking at his outraged expression. “What, you don’t like humans interrupting your demonic crimes?” she asked with only a slight slur.
He sneered at her. “Out of my way, witch.”
“You’re not going to offer me a bargain?” Astaroth had tried that earlier, offering her money, fame, love . . . whatever she wanted in exchange for her soul and her magic.
She knew better than to believe in such empty promises. Like anything else worth having, love was earned, not seized.
The demon scoffed. “You’re dealing with Moloch of the Nine, witch.” At Calladia’s uncomprehending stare, he clarified. “I’m a warrior, not a bargainer.” His muscles strained as he fought against the spell, and Calladia felt the magical bonds weakening. Hecate, he was strong.
“Not much of a warrior right now,” she said, brazening it out as she started tying a new string of knots. “You aren’t welcome here.”
She wove a circle of protection around herself and the unfortunate man in the gutter, who she hadn’t had a chance to look at yet. Better safe than sorry. It turned out to be an excellent impulse, as Moloch broke free of her original spell and lunged at her. He ricocheted off the shield, and Calladia laughed.
Moloch’s face twisted in an expression of rage so potent it made Calladia retreat a step. “This isn’t over,” he said. Then he made a circular gesture with his fingers, and a flame-edged oval the size of a door appeared in the air. A portal. With a final glower at the man on the ground, Moloch stepped through, and the portal sealed behind him.
Calladia blew out a heavy breath. “Wow. What a dick.”
A pained groan sounded from behind her. “You can say that again,” the British man said. “Bloody hell.”
Calladia dropped to her knees to examine the man for injuries. “Are you hurt—” She broke off as the man straightened from the fetal position and rolled to face her, revealing black horns and a familiar face. “Oh, hell no,” she said, scrambling away.
Had she seriously just rescued her enemy?
Astaroth looked like shit, at least. His white suit was stained with dirt and blood, his chiseled face was wan, and the skin around his eye was rapidly purpling. “Thank you,” he said weakly, pushing to a seated position.
“Nuh uh,” Calladia said, standing and backing away. She started tying new knots, trying to decide if she should forcibly fling him to Oregon or turn him into a newt. “You aren’t welcome here either.”
Astaroth’s forehead furrowed. “Sorry, have we met?”
Calladia laughed disbelievingly. “Forgotten me so quickly? Maybe my fist in your face will help you remember.”
He winced and prodded the swelling skin around his eye. “Forgotten . . .” His eyes widened with what looked like panic. “Wait, where am I? And who are you?”