A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch

Astaroth barely made it back to the truck before Calladia stormed out of the house. He hunkered down, heart racing and mind churning over what he’d overheard.

That conversation had been overflowing with toxicity. Did Calladia’s mother truly not see her daughter’s worth? Where Astaroth saw passion and fire, a willingness to fight for what was right, and an indomitable spirit and clever wit, Calladia’s mother saw . . .

A disappointment.

The truck door was flung open, and Calladia shoved a cardboard box at him. “Take this,” she ordered.

He did, propping it on his lap as he sat upright. “What’s in here?”

“None of your business.” Calladia backed out of the driveway like ghouls were chasing them, then sent the truck lurching forward. It stalled, and she cursed as she restarted the car, jammed the clutch in, and yanked on the shifter.

Astaroth’s curiosity would make it his business, but he knew better than to start digging through the box while she was watching. “So,” he said. “How’d it go?”

Calladia leveled him with a death glare. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Astaroth chewed his lip, wondering what to say next. He couldn’t admit he was listening in; that would just piss her off more. But how else was he going to get information out of her?

To be better able to manipulate her, of course. Blackmail and whatnot. Just in case.

Considering she was driving like she was actively seeking out adorable Disney animals to turn into roadkill, there wasn’t much more pissing off to do before she hit her limit, so Astaroth went for it. “I was eavesdropping,” he said. “Your mother seems like a treat.”

Calladia slapped the steering wheel. “I told you to stay in the car!”

Astaroth shrugged. “I was curious. Were you really engaged to be married?”

It wasn’t the question he’d planned to ask, but it was the one that popped out. Why that should be the thing he’d fixated on, who could say. It just seemed odd for someone so militantly independent to be engaged, that was all. Anyone would be curious.

The look Calladia threw him threatened to rearrange his insides. “None of your business,” she repeated.

“Why’d you break it off?” he asked, undeterred. “Did you castrate and disembowel him and then have to make up a story to explain his absence?”

“I wish.” Calladia grimaced. “He tried to make me small.”

She didn’t elaborate, but it was enough for Astaroth to start forming a picture. The kind of man Calladia’s mother would have found “high-value” was probably some snooty fuck with strict expectations of female behavior. There were far too many men like that, on Earth and other planes, and Astaroth despised them. Not that he wasn’t a snooty fuck—he was, and proudly—but he couldn’t imagine trying or wanting to shape someone like Calladia into another form.

“Well.” Astaroth cleared his throat. “As your sworn enemy, I can reliably inform you he did not succeed. It would take magic beyond the most powerful witch’s abilities to turn you into anyone but exactly who you are.”

Calladia’s lips parted. As she coasted to a stop at an intersection, she stared at him. He couldn’t identify the emotion in her eyes, but it made him feel awkward. He fidgeted and looked down at the box in his lap.

Calladia didn’t say anything for a while. She drove on, eyes on the road and hands clasping the steering wheel, though her grip didn’t seem as tight as it had before. “So,” she eventually said. “We’ll hit up Mariel’s place next, and then we need to find a place to stay. I want to get out of town, just in case Moloch realizes we’re alive. I have camping gear—”

Astaroth recoiled. “Camping? Like . . . in nature?” He may not remember much of the last few centuries, but his imperfect memory did contain strong opinions about having to bivouac when he’d tagged along with King George III’s soldiers for a lark. Faced with mud, terrible rations, and a distinct lack of hygiene, he’d determined the camping lifestyle was (A) not a lark, and (B) not for him.

“Where else would you camp?” Calladia asked.

Astaroth shook his head. “Absolutely not. First off, there are bugs. And dirt. And probably bears and who knows what, and I’m not going to sleep on the ground.”

Calladia looked at him askance. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those precious types who can’t sleep unless they’re in a proper bed.”

“Is that precious?” Astaroth asked. “Or is it a reasonable expectation, considering the technology available? I was born in the late medieval period. Why would I choose to revisit it?”

“Well, for starters, camping isn’t about comfort. It’s about getting away and enjoying nature. Cooking over a fire and staring at the stars.”

“I can enjoy nature through a window, thank you very much.”

“Secondly,” Calladia said, “we’re on the lam. This isn’t some five-star vacation getaway.”

“That doesn’t mean we need to lower all our standards—”

Calladia interrupted him. “Where’s your wallet?”

Astaroth blinked, jolted out of his argument. “What?”

“Your wallet.” She held out her hand, beckoning with quick flicks of her fingers. “Since you clearly have the cash to pay for a fancy hotel.”

“I—” Astaroth closed his mouth, then opened it again. “I’m sure I have plenty of resources on the demon plane.”

“The demon plane where Moloch lives? Sure, sounds good. Let’s go there.”

Curse her, she wasn’t supposed to have a good point. “I’ll pay you back. Eventually.”

She scoffed. “Like I believe that.”

“We could make a bargain,” Astaroth offered. “Those are unbreakable.”

Calladia slammed on the brakes so fast, Astaroth was thrown against the seat belt. “Don’t ever offer me a bargain again,” she said vehemently, jabbing a finger into his shoulder.

Astaroth rubbed the spot she’d poked. “Touchy, touchy.”

Her scowl was even more ferocious than usual. “I know how bargains work. I ask for a favor, and you fulfill it, taking away all my magic and emotions while you do so, right?”

“Well . . . yes.” Bargaining was woven into his being—even if he couldn’t remember all the details, the instinct was there. Demonic bargainers devoted their lives to making deals that protected the species. Even the smallest demon child knew that without the light and magic provided by mortal souls, their plane would darken and die.

Calladia shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Astaroth felt a flicker of something he suspected might be guilt, but he suppressed the impulse to apologize. Bargaining was a noble calling; there was nothing to be ashamed of. “So that’s a no on the bargaining. A shame. You have such a lovely soul.”

She scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

“I can see your soul if I engage my demon senses. All souls glow, but yours is particularly bright.” When he focused on it, it was like a miniature star centered behind her breastbone. If he’d been able to liberate that golden light from her body, he would have opened a portal to let it drift to the demon plane, where it would join countless others floating through the twilit sky. Hers would be one of the brightest, rejuvenating the demons who passed by and making flowers bloom in its wake.

It would be nice to see that soul floating about, but the Calladia left behind on Earth wouldn’t be the one goggling at him now. Her combativeness and passion would fade, leaving an emotionless echo of the vibrant woman she’d been. She’d walk, talk, and act like a human being, but a crucial part would be missing.

That shouldn’t bother Astaroth.

An ache started behind his sternum, and he rubbed his chest.

Why did that bother him?

Calladia hit the gas. “Well, hands off my soul. I’m not a nice person like Mariel; I’m a total bitch, so you won’t be able to find a soft spot to manipulate me with.”

It struck Astaroth that Calladia had a rather poor opinion of herself. Sure, she was a bitch—and he meant that as a compliment of the highest order, just as he was a proud bastard—but it was obvious she had a strong sense of fairness, and the way she spoke of Mariel indicated a deep level of feeling for her loved ones. Nice was too tepid a word for her. But loyal, protective, and determined to do the right thing? Those were traits to admire.

If this was a bargaining mission, he would try to exploit her insecurities or her protectiveness toward her loved ones. Every human had something they were willing to give up their soul for. Love, money, power, revenge . . . all a clever demon had to do was pinpoint that weakness, stick the metaphorical knife in, and twist.

Astaroth was a clever demon, and Calladia had revealed several weak points, from her strained relationship with her mother to her broken engagement to her belief she wasn’t a particularly good person. Throw in friends she adored and a destroyed house, and there was plenty he could offer in terms of demon magic.

Still, the idea bothered him.

He cleared his throat. “No bargaining. We shall maintain a semi-cordial partnership to accomplish our mutual goals.”

He was surprised when Calladia laughed. “This is what you consider semi-cordial?”

“You haven’t tried to gut me yet,” he said. “That’s something.”

She chuckled again, and Astaroth’s lips threatened to tug up at the corners in response. Proper demons didn’t succumb to emotional impulses though, so he bit down on the smile and focused on the view out the window.

Glimmer Falls was a charming town in daytime, but it took on an ethereal glow at night. Hanging holiday lights decorated restaurant patios, candles flickered from windowsills, and magic displays sent cascades of vibrant color into the sky. A wide variety of species mingled freely everywhere he looked.

It was a far cry from the desperate times he remembered from Earth centuries ago. Then life had been hard for everyone, and people had generally gathered in groups to protect their mutual interests. The pixies stayed with the pixies, the witches with the warlocks, the nonmagical humans with each other. There was some cross-group pollination, but overall, the world had been cut into categories.

Now those boundaries were gone, and it was a marvel to see.

The advance of night had brought a drop in temperature though, and he shivered.

Calladia turned the heat on. “Are you cold?” she asked.

“A minor inconvenience, no more.” He shivered again.

Calladia grumbled, then pulled into a strip mall, parking in front of a secondhand clothing store that was nestled between a ramen shop and a nail-and-talon salon. “What size do you wear?” she asked.

“Erm.” Astaroth racked his brain. “I don’t know. Whenever the Queen sent her tailor, they just measured me and delivered the clothing later.” He’d been a particular pet of hers for a season, and she’d adored him in a gold waistcoat.

“The Queen?” Calladia’s jaw dropped. “Like . . . the one in Buckingham Palace?”

“Probably not the same one,” Astaroth said. “Unless Queen Charlotte has a life witch on call?” Witches who could expand life spans—both theirs and others—were extremely rare, and their methods were top secret.

Calladia rolled her eyes. “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll eyeball it.”

He watched her enter the store with trepidation. There were some decent pieces in the window, but Calladia didn’t display the best judgment when it came to her own clothing.

After ten minutes, she returned holding a bag. “You can change in the tent once I get it set up,” she said, handing the clothes over. “No stripping in the truck.”

He dug through the fabric as she started driving again. She’d picked up a pale blue shirt, an oversized hooded sweater, undershorts, socks and trainers, and black leather trousers. Or faux leather, as a check of the tag indicated it was made of various synthetics. Still, he raised a brow at the bold choice. “Do you enjoy a man in leather?” he asked. It matched his horns, and the blue shirt was close to the shade of his eyes. Simple garments, but functional, and she’d given at least some thought to aesthetics.

Was it his imagination or had her cheeks flushed? “It’s the only thing I thought would fit. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Ah, yes. Manners. Important when buttering up one’s enemies. “Thank you for buying me clothing,” he said. And he meant it, truly. She’d used her own money to make him comfortable, and a warm, fuzzy feeling filled him at the gesture, growing warmer as he put the jumper on. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“Don’t bother. Secondhand stores are cheap.” She slid him a glance. “Let me guess, you hate the idea of secondhand stores. That suit probably cost a fortune.”

He couldn’t say how much it had cost, but he resented the first bit of conjecture. “Excuse you. Shopping vintage and used is an excellent way to craft a unique style, as well as be more sustainable for the planet.” He smirked and gestured at his torso. “As evidenced by myself, the best things are built to last.”

Calladia let out a startled-sounding laugh. Her teeth dug into one side of her lower lip, and her eyes were bright. It was a real smile, surprised out of her, and it was just as stunning as he’d imagined.

She shook her head. “Ridiculous,” she said, but for once, it didn’t sound like an insult.