A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch

It was full dark by the time they arrived at Mariel’s house. “Stay here,” Calladia told Astaroth. “Head down.”

“It’s like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me,” he marveled. “How odd.”

“That’s exactly it.” Ignoring Astaroth’s huff, Calladia exited the truck. “I’ll be back.”

Mariel flung open the door a few seconds after Calladia knocked. The short, curvy brunette witch launched herself at Calladia, knocking her back a few steps. “I was so worried!” Mariel cried as she hugged Calladia fiercely. “I can’t believe someone blew up your house.”

“Me neither.” Calladia squeezed Mariel tightly before releasing her. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”

Mariel scoffed as she ushered Calladia in. “You know you can just walk into my house whenever you want.”

Mariel’s home was cozy and charming, full of colorful knickknacks and woven rugs. They passed the den where Oz had spent days sleeping on the couch after Mariel had accidentally summoned him, then continued down the hall to the kitchen and adjacent dining nook. The air smelled like spices and cooking meat.

“Take a seat and tell us everything,” Mariel said.

Calladia smiled at the people gathered in the kitchen. Themmie, of course, who was zooming toward her, but also the werewolf Ben Rosewood, a good friend and Mariel’s boss at the garden shop he owned. Oz was chopping onions at the counter; he waved the knife in greeting, looking watery-eyed. “I would offer a hug,” the demon said in his rumbling baritone, “but you might start crying from these cursed onions, too.”

Themmie was so agitated she didn’t land before hugging Calladia. The pixie’s wings thrummed as she lifted Calladia off the ground. “I’m so glad you weren’t barbecued,” Themmie sobbed.

Despite everything, Calladia laughed. “Me, too. I hope you’re ready to plot revenge.”

Ben came to hug her next. The werewolf was tall and broad with shaggy brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but he eschewed the badass biker look a lot of werewolves enjoyed in favor of dressing like a math professor, a lumberjack, or a combination of both. Tonight was all math professor, complete with sweater vest and gold-rimmed glasses. “We’ll pitch in to help you rebuild,” he promised. “No detail’s too small.”

Calladia’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

The group was completed by Alzapraz, Mariel’s great-great-great-times-a-lot grandfather. When Mariel had heard there were demon issues afoot, she’d offered to invite the ancient warlock, who had more knowledge than the rest of them combined. No one knew what century he’d been born in, but he looked as old as he was, since he’d mastered enough life magic to extend his life span indefinitely, but not enough to preserve his health. He was more wrinkled than a pug, with a hunched back and a white beard that dangled to his waist. A pointy purple cap topped with a yarn pom-pom perched on his head.

Alzapraz waved a fork. “Glad you didn’t die,” he said in a creaky voice.

“Same!”

Oz was finally done with the onions, and after washing his hands, he came to give her a brief hug. “Sorry about the house.”

Calladia smiled at Oz. “Thank you.”

She’d mistrusted the big, serious demon at first, but she’d come to realize that behind his reserved exterior was a tender heart and a strong sense of loyalty. What he lacked in fancy words he made up for in actions, and his solid, protective presence was exactly the anchor flighty, dreamy Mariel needed.

They sat while Mariel resumed cooking coconut chicken curry. To Calladia’s delight, Mariel had incorporated magic into her meal prep and was summoning ingredients with ease. A week ago, that had been nearly impossible due to Mariel’s unpredictable spellcraft, but Mariel had finally realized her magic wasn’t the issue—the pressure exerted by her overbearing family was. Set free to explore magic on her own terms, Mariel had begun to flourish.

“Tell us what happened,” Themmie ordered. She’d clearly been crying; her cheeks were smudged with eyeliner, and her glitter eye shadow had migrated to seemingly every inch of her brown skin, from her forehead to the backs of her hands.

Calladia did, omitting the role Astaroth had played. Or rather, obfuscating. She’d concluded there was no way to leave the demon out of the story entirely, so she admitted accidentally interrupting Moloch’s attack. “I guess Moloch must have fixated on me,” she said. “He followed me home, convinced I was sheltering Astaroth.”

Mariel snorted as she spooned curry onto plates. “Not in a million years.”

Calladia forced a smile. “Obviously. But apparently he didn’t believe me, because next thing I knew, he’d firebombed my house.”

“With you inside?” Themmie asked. “How awful!” Her dark eyes were wide with distress.

Calladia squeezed Themmie’s hand. “I’m okay. I was blown free and hid, but now I’m living out of my truck until I figure out how to get this Moloch asshole off my tail.”

“You can stay with me!” multiple voices exclaimed at once—though Oz and Mariel both said us.

Calladia’s heart warmed. “Thank you, but I’m not comfortable putting anyone else at risk until Moloch is taken care of.” She faced Oz. “What can you tell me about Moloch and Astaroth and whatever that drama is?”

Oz picked at his curry—after directing praise and effusive thanks to a blushing Mariel—chewing slowly as he thought. “It’s an odd situation. They’re around the same age—Moloch was born in the late fourteenth century, Astaroth in the early fifteenth—and they’ve always been rivals. Astaroth has long been our most successful bargainer, and Moloch our most powerful warrior.”

Calladia knew Astaroth was old, but it was startling to remember exactly how old, especially since he frequently acted like a petulant child.

Alzapraz snorted. “Amateurs,” he croaked. “They should try being my age with my joints.”

“How did Moloch manage fireballs?” Mariel asked. “I thought demons only had bargaining magic.”

Oz shook his head. “There are other strains of magic, though they’re just as rare as bargaining magic. For warriors, that’s the ability to summon fire.”

Thanks to Oz, the group had gotten a crash course in demonology, including the disturbing fact that children were separated from their parents and put into brutal, isolating training to develop whatever skills would benefit demon society. Oz and Astaroth had the power to harvest human souls—the combination of magic and emotion—and send them to the demon plane, and Oz would have continued in that career if he hadn’t become an anomaly some months back. He’d accidentally gained a human soul during a bargain gone wrong, and it had given the previously stoic demon messy emotions, magic, and a human life span.

It was weird—Astaroth seemed way too emotional for what Oz had told them about most demons. Probably an effect of the head injury, which meant he’d return to his cold and calculating Vulcan-esque self eventually.

“If they’ve hated each other that long,” Calladia said, “then why is Moloch only trying to kill him now?”

“I’m not sure.” Oz’s forehead furrowed. “Something must have happened on the demon plane. Astaroth said he’d made a wager with the high council. He obviously lost, so maybe this is the result.”

“Hmm.” Calladia considered as she took a forkful of curry. She moaned in appreciation of the rich flavor. “Mariel, you deserve a Michelin Star.”

Mariel grinned. She was practically glowing, and although Calladia was thrilled to see her friend so happy, there was an uncomfortable tightness in her own chest. Oz leaned in to whisper something in Mariel’s ear, and Mariel’s freckled cheeks pinkened before she giggled and playfully slapped Oz away. Naughty, Mariel mouthed at the demon.

Calladia couldn’t imagine what that kind of intimacy felt like. She hadn’t dated seriously since Sam, and it had never been like that. No carefree, giddy joy, no mutual support, only an ever-escalating sense of unworthiness. The longer she’d spent with Sam, the smaller she’d felt, her life shaping itself around his judgments.

It was enough to make a witch reject the very idea of love, if only there weren’t two such compelling examples of the phenomenon sitting across the table.

“It sucks that Moloch’s taking his issues out on Calladia,” Themmie said. “He needs to buy her a new house, at least.”

“Sure, that’ll go well,” Calladia said. “Hey, Moloch, I know you tried to murder me with an enormous fireball, but would you mind sending some cash to cover the property damage?” She shook her head and focused on Oz. “I don’t know how to deal with this situation yet, but I need to learn everything you can tell me about Moloch. And Astaroth, for that matter. You know, just in case he turns up.”

Just in case he’s sitting in the passenger seat of my truck.

Oz obliged, painting character portraits of the two demons. Moloch was clever and charming, with a legendary knack for brutality that made him a figure out of nightmares for opponents. Most demons enjoyed scheming, but Moloch was especially conniving. He’d built a web of allies across demon society, and it was an open secret that the conservative half of the high council followed his lead. He sought to collect as much power as possible while eliminating his enemies along the way.

Cue Astaroth, Moloch’s long-standing enemy. The two had brawled, dueled, and outwitted each other for centuries, with Astaroth one of the only challengers capable of limiting Moloch’s manipulations in the high council. Oz spoke of his mentor in damning terms: scheming, conniving, manipulative, cynical, power-hungry. He’d raised Oz in a drafty stone castle, teaching him to wield a bargainer’s magic while honing him into a perfect weapon. Demons weren’t entirely emotionless—just less so compared to humans—but Astaroth had attempted to stamp out any weakness in his protégé. “He always spoke of the value of being cold,” Oz said. “With coldness comes clarity, which means you can strike even the cruelest bargains without succumbing to guilt.”

Mariel looked madder with every sentence. When Oz had finished detailing his experiences with Astaroth, she wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I hope Moloch beats him up,” she said.

Oz chuckled and kissed her back. “Velina, shocking as it may seem, I would still rather see Astaroth in power than Moloch. Astaroth has an interest in human culture and supports protections for part-demon hybrids. Moloch despises anything other than pure demonkind and has long spoken of demonic supremacy over inferior life forms.”

Calladia, Themmie, Ben, and Mariel made matching outraged sounds.

Oz raised his hands placatingly. “Not that humans are inferior. It’s just how Moloch thinks. If he ever gains total control of the high council, I worry for anyone he doesn’t deem a ‘pure’ enough demon.”

“Does Moloch have weaknesses?” Calladia asked.

“Like any demon, a good beheading would take him out,” Oz said, “but good luck getting anywhere near that point. He’s an expert swordsman, better even than Astaroth.”

Maybe they could ambush him. “Where does he usually hang out?”

“The demon plane, where he’s heavily guarded. It’s rare he’ll make an appearance on Earth.”

Not great. “So he’s immortal, basically invincible, and won’t show up unless he’s actively trying to murder me?”

Oz winced.

“Cool,” Calladia said, trying not to freak out. “Cool cool cool.”

“It isn’t fair you got sucked into this,” Mariel said, distress filling her hazel eyes. “Alzapraz, do you have any idea what she should do?”

Alzapraz stroked his beard, leaving a streak of curry behind. “An immovable object can only be equaled by an unstoppable force,” the ancient warlock said, beetle-black eyes barely visible beneath bristling white eyebrows. “When faced with a physically invincible being, you need the magical equivalent. Someone with power over life itself.”

“Like you?” Calladia suggested.

Alzapraz’s chuckle was like dry leaves skidding over autumn grass. “Not me, child. You need one who’s mastered the giving and, more importantly, the taking of life.” He nodded and produced a smartphone from his voluminous sleeve. “I know just the person. Her name is Isobel, and she’s a life witch with demon experience. She lives in the woods.” He opened the map app and showed Calladia a swath of forest to the northeast. “Somewhere in there.”

Calladia eyed the vast area. “That’s as specific as you can get? Somewhere in there?”

“Her house moves.” He held out a hand, his fingers as gnarled as the roots of an ancient oak. “Give me your phone and I’ll jot down more detailed directions.”

Calladia did, watching the warlock slowly tap at the screen. It would be nice if the old school of witches and warlocks would embrace things like street addresses and GPS coordinates, but alas, many of them treated even a simple social call as an epic quest. “You really think this Isobel can help us with Moloch?”

“Possibly,” Alzapraz said. “She’s vicious, and she’ll do anything for enough money. She’s well-rounded, too. Life curses, memory magic . . .”

“Memory magic?” Calladia asked, perking up.

“The giving and taking of memories. Restoring that which is lost.” Alzapraz winked. “A very versatile talent, Isobel. She’s older than even me.”

“Does she look just as young and spry?” Calladia asked.

Alzapraz’s laugh turned into a wracking cough. “Believe it or not,” he wheezed once he’d recovered, “she looks no older than you do. When I said she’d mastered life magic, I meant it.” He grimaced. “Wish the bitch would share some tips.”

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.